


A Painted Line

by Weirwoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artists, Cersei is Jaime's cousin, Contemporary Art, F/M, Minor Brienne of Tarth/Jon Snow, Minor Brienne of Tarth/Oberyn Martell, Painting, not j/c friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 73,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirwoo/pseuds/Weirwoo
Summary: Brienne Tarth has a singular vision to become a great artist. When she meets one of her inspirations, the infamous painter Jaime Lannister, her life changes in unexpected ways.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Brienne of Tarth, Oberyn Martell/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 418
Kudos: 230





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally written a Modern AU that has been brewing in my mind over the past months. There are very minor side relationships here, with Jon and Oberyn, but the focus is very much on **JaimexBrienne**. Because it's a mod AU, there's only Tommen (yay modern birth control), and Cersei is Jaime's cousin, though they grew up together. 
> 
> Also, props and praise to the visual art Braime classics, [Caramel by ellaria](https://archiveofourown.org/works/944626), and [Madonna of the Balcony by QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136329/chapters/18650153%5D). They are spectacular, if you haven't read them yet.
> 
> Note: I don't have a Beta, so please forgive typos - I will find them with time, I imagine.

[ ](https://imgur.com/1NnxhT2)

The line was white and spindly, painted in oil paint with enough of a wobble that indicated a delicate but still human hand. The fact that these lines covered the whole of the canvas in a fine grid was even more impressive. Somehow, whoever created this work made something that seemed mechanical and rote look all too human. Wobbly lines, wobbly lives. It wasn’t the lines that drew Jaime to the painting, of course, since they were only visible upon close inspection, it was the _blue_. He could see that the colour was painted in several layers, to achieve a glowing, slightly luminous effect. But the blue was deep and wavering and reminded him both of the ocean and the sky at the same time. 

Looking at it made Jaime hold his breath. He had never seen anything like it. Not only did the painting have a visual harmony, it pulled out of him a kind of longing that was unusual. It made him feel that if he looked at this painting long enough, he could find peace at last.

And so he looked and looked. And time stopped.

=====

Brienne, in jeans and a man’s white shirt splattered with smudges and brushes of colourful paint, returned to the workroom to find a strange blond man standing in front of her easel, his figure leaning forward, so close to her painting that she was afraid of him touching and ruining it. She was instantly taken aback and surprised by this intruder into her workspace. All of the other art students, along with the professors, were at the big celebration event in the main hall of the university. Brienne hadn’t gone; she wanted instead to paint in her relegated corner, far away from everyone. The corner was where she belonged, not the spotlight.

She tried to suppress the irritation she felt upon being interrupted in the midst of her work. She cleared her throat.

The man immediately straightened up, and Brienne was surprised to note that he was nearly as tall as her, and from the back, he looked broad and strong, with long, muscular legs and arms that weren’t quite hidden by the immaculately grey tailored suit he wore. When he turned around and met her gaze, Brienne had the shock of her life. Not only was the man facing her the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, with his long, nearly chin-length hair and sharp, glittering green eyes and a most perfect angular jaw, this man was the very famous artist Jaime Lannister. He was the darling of the art world, not only known for his talent and skill, but for his extremely rich and prominent family. 

Brienne rudely stared, as she could not seem to help it, and he stared right back, his eyes roving up and down, taking in the immensity of her body, her height, her crooked nose, her all too-plump lips, and the countless light brown freckles that were scattered all over her pale skin. His beautiful mouth turned up into a crooked smile as he regarded her with an amused look.

“You’re Jaime Lannister,” Brienne stupidly blurted out. Her tongue felt large in her mouth as she felt her face grow red.

His smile widened as he looked at her with a self-satisfied arrogance. “You know me. Do you like my work, by any chance?”

Brienne grew even redder, but her mind was racing - panicking, really, and suddenly words were pouring out of her. “I love your work, Mr. Lannister. I’ve studied your paintings, your drawings since I was a child. Your skill is extraordinary, your use of colour and brushstroke, the realism of your paintings. You’ve inspired me to become an artist.”

Jaime laughed, a little bitterly, and flashed her a brilliant smile that seemed to be designed to make her insides quake. “Gods, I feel older and older every time I visit this place. You’re a student here, I take it?”

Brienne nodded shyly. “I’m in second year.” She furrowed her brow and tilted her head in puzzlement. “Mr. Lannister, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Great Hall, where you’re supposed to be meeting everyone and looking at students’ exhibited works? You are the guest of honour, I thought?”

“Yes, as it happens, I _am_ supposed to be there. In fact, I was recently there, but I had a hankering to visit my old workspace, which happens to have been in this very room.” He looked around the familiar stained white walls, the scuffed concrete floor. “I guess this old artist was feeling nostalgic and wanted to relive his art school days, such as they were.”

Pink flared back into Brienne’s cheeks. She looked at him with an embarrassed glance. “Mr. Lannister, I didn’t mean to imply that you were old. You’re far from old; in fact, you look very - very -”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, regarding her with an amused, rather patronizing stare. “I’m glad you think that I’m not as decrepit as all that, even though you studied my work as a _child_.” He chuckled, and the sound of it sent her heart racing. “And it’s Jaime. _Mr. Lannister_ ,” he added with a feral grin, “Is my father.”

Brienne nodded. “Jaime.”

Jaime looked at her painting, then back to her. “And I must ask, why aren’t _you_ among the throng of my young admirers? Aren’t you in the exhibition? Why are you holed in here like a timid little mouse, working away?”

Brienne bit her lip and twisted her hands. “I don’t do well in crowds. I prefer to be alone.” She sighed. “And no, none of my paintings were chosen for the exhibition; they wanted to show off their best students, you see.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “You seem to have a poor regard for your own work.”

“No, it’s not that,” Brienne quickly interjected. Jaime raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

“Oh?”

“What I have a poor regard for is their _opinion_ of my work. I like my own work just fine.” She raised her chin defiantly.

Jaime threw back his golden head and laughed. “If it makes you feel better, their opinions on what is good and who is the best are usually worth shit-all. Perhaps that’s why I found myself utterly bored at the nudes and landscapes and the painfully obvious social commentary that are so keenly displayed in the Great Hall. Their tastes at this school have always been suspect, you know.” 

He turned back to her painting, and looked at it carefully. “But you...you paint these _lines_ ….”

Brienne stepped forward so she was next to him. The painting wasn’t finished, but it had the depth of blue that she had layered and scuffed, revealing a depth of surface which was reminiscent of the ocean. On top of that, Brienne had painted thin white lines to form a grid over the canvas.

“The line is the fundamental thing in our work, isn’t it? There is no painting without the line.”

He stared at the painting for a long moment, not speaking. When he finally spoke, his tone was gentle. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be trapped by the lines or feel freed by them.”

He looked over at her now, and their eyes met, and Brienne felt a certain current pass between them, an innate understanding, a shared vocation. She nearly shivered. The strength of his gaze washed over her, and it was unclear to her if he was assessing or admiring her. He looked at her like he was trying to figure her out.

“You know my name. I don’t know yours.” He leaned closer to her, and Brienne could make out the golden flecks of his eyes which were ignited by the light coming in from the windows. 

Brienne blushed. “My name is Brienne Tarth.” Brienne was too aware of her physical deficits, her innate ugliness. She felt ashamed to be standing next to someone so beautiful. 

“Tarth like the island?”

She nodded. “That’s where my family is from.”

Jaime nodded. “Well Brienne of Tarth, I must get back to that ghastly to-do that they’ve put on for me.” He straightened his jacket. “Don’t let them get you down. You create what you want to create.” He gave her painting another quick glance. “I, for one, happen to _like_ what you’re doing.” Jaime reached out and squeezed her elbow lightly, then quickly strode away.

The place where he touched her through her shirt felt incredibly warm. She could not help but stare after him, long after he left. 

She swallowed and collapsed on a nearby chair. She felt faint and her heart was racing. The great Jaime Lannister had looked at her work. He had spoken to her. He _liked_ what she was doing.

=====

By the time Jaime arrived back to his King’s Landing flat downtown, he was exhausted. He quickly pulled off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He took off his belt and untucked his shirt and collapsed on the extra large cobalt blue leather sofa. Gods, being around young people always drained the life out of him. He was way past the period in his life that fame and attention were turn-ons; adulation simply bored him, and he was adored everywhere he went.

He was surely only one of those once-in-a-lifetime success stories: he won first prize in the final year of art school, and his looks, his pedigree, and to some extent, his talent had done the rest. The art world had even ignored the fact that he’d ruined the career of his first mentor, the old Professor Aerys Targaryen, the legendary artist of his time who had a penchant for raping underage girls (as well as his own wife, he might add), a fact which was only known to his inner circle and by Jaime. Jaime had been an ascendant star, and his words were like weapons. A few well-placed barbs in the ears of journalists brought the great artist down. Soon enough, the old man lost his career and afterwards took his own life upon threat of exposure. Jaime might as well have slashed his throat when it came down to who was responsible for Targaryen’s ruination and death. Sure, the world had scorned him for a time - the tabloids had a field day plastering his face next to Targaryen, even making up stories about Jaime having an affair with the old man’s daughter. But really, it turned out to be a blip in Jaime Lannister’s long career. His beautiful face, wealth, and family connection were all too powerful to ignore.

And yet, right now he felt like an old man, even though at thirty-four, he was still young and in his prime. But there was something about being around hundreds of fresh, sycophantic faces who clung at his every word and gesture that aged him. Frankly, their sense of hope and their assumptions of their own success despite their mediocre talent was alarming. He had _never_ been like that, he thought. Visiting his old school, like he did every other year, gave him a sense of vertigo. He wanted to tell the students to change schools and learn something practical, because all of them wanted to be _him_ , to have his career, but Jaime knew that maybe one or two would ever make it in the art world. If they were rich and had the right connections, that is. Talent was nothing when it came to fame.

He thought back to the young Brienne Tarth, who he had stumbled upon when visiting his old workspace. Even from the back of the room his eyes were drawn to the unfinished but already extraordinary painting, and he must have stood there an age examining the canvas before he met the artist. What struck him upon gazing at the blue field that she had created - and the very fine white lines which divided the canvas - was that the painting was the work of an experienced artist, who understood the complexities of life. It was with complete surprise then, when he met the creator of the painting. 

The artist responsible for the work was a mere girl, around 20 years old, who was taller than him, and had broad shoulders and powerful muscles, along with an unfortunately ugly face, complete with crooked nose and freckles everywhere. She had the most disharmonious face he’d ever seen, and her straw-coloured hair stuck out from her head in a mess; but her lips were lush and plump, and her eyes were clear and blue and the most stunning he’d ever seen. He was nearly physically struck by meeting her gaze. She was overwhelming in her bodily presence. There was a sweet innocence to her and a purity that he’d rarely encountered in all his days. Of course, she admired him like the rest, but he felt flattered and pleased by her praise instead of being annoyed, as he usually would have been to such effusive praise. He sensed a depth to her that made sense that she could have easily been the artist behind the painting. There was something about her quietness, the stillness of her that struck him as highly unusual. 

His phone buzzed. He groaned and cursed. It was late, nearly ten. There was only one person who called him at this hour. He tried to let it go to voicemail, but as soon as the phone stopped buzzing, it started up again. She was relentless. He looked at his phone and sighed.

“Cersei.”

“It took you long enough to pick up, Jaime.” He could hear the annoyance clear in her voice.

“I’ve had a long day. Went to the art -”

“Jaime, will you come? I need you.” Her voice turned smooth and seductive.

“Cersei, I don’t know. It’s late. I’m tired.”

“But I haven’t seen you in _ages_. Robert will be away until tomorrow night, one of his business trips where he’s bedding whores, no doubt.”

“Tomorrow. I can come tomorrow, we can spend the day together.” He felt a weariness in his bones.

“But I need you now. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I miss you.”

“Jaime. Then come here. I need you in my bed right now. I need you inside me, Jaime. Sweet cousin, sweet brother.” Her voice became low and sultry.

He felt his body start to respond to her tones, her _want_ , just like it had for over twenty years.

“Please, Jaime.”

Jaime sighed inwardly. “I’ll be right there.” She hung up immediately.

Gods, he was tired. Nevertheless, he began to feel the anticipation of being with his cousin. Even though it had been weeks since he saw her last, he imagined her perfectly: the long waves of her golden hair, that beautiful, symmetrical face, the fullness of her breasts, the slim line of her body. He always went to her whenever she called; he had always been hers, since she had kissed him the first time when they were thirteen. When they were growing up, everyone thought they were twins; they even said it of themselves, how alike they were, how they were two parts of a whole that belonged together. Of course, they knew that they were really cousins, and that Cersei had come to live with them after the death of her mother when she was just five years old. At first Cersei was a sister to him, but when they became teenagers, they almost automatically had become lovers. In truth, Jaime barely remembered their first time. All he remembered was the overwhelming pleasure and the ecstatic rush of sex, and the confidence that he loved his cousin and always would.

He got up, put his jacket back on and darted out the door. He wondered if he still loved Cersei or if she had merely become a habit. He was under no illusions about how horrible a person his cousin was to others, and sometimes to himself; she was mean and petty and always had to have her way. At her job, she had a tyrannical reputation. A part of him suspected that he loved her far more than she did him, but it was not a train of thought that he encouraged in himself. He wondered why she was so willing to marry Robert if she loved him. He’d proposed of course, many times over the years, but he hadn’t thought about being with her permanently like that in years. She had turned him down every time. She wanted to marry someone richer and more powerful than Jaime, to show his father, he supposed. She lived for Tywin’s approval; he was the only father she had ever known, after all.

Robert Baratheon was rich and powerful, deeply involved in politics, and just the kind of man who could supply Cersei with the kind of power she craved. He also had the kind of wealth and social capital that Tywin valued. Unfortunately, he was also a womanizing idiot who was still in love with his dead childhood sweetheart. Cersei had one child, a boy named Tommen, just six years old. The boy had blond hair and green eyes; Jaime assumed that the boy was Robert and not his, since Cersei had always been careful about birth control around him, or so he thought. Again, it was one of many things he did not examine when it came to Cersei.

  
  



	2. TWO

The school had been forced to exhibit her work as part of the show this year, though she was sure Dr. Randyll Tarly agreed to it with his teeth clenched and his face pinched. She had, after all, won the prize for best artist in her graduate year; the King’s Landing Emerging Artist prize was juried by a handful of independent artists and curators, and was thus unaffected by the hostility that Tarly and his group of avant-garde artist boys had fostered for her during the last four years. She was lucky that one of her professors, Catelyn Stark, nominated one of her paintings for the prestigious prize.

The work in question, a large 10x10 painting, which depicted a series of fine white lines interspersed with other straight lines of blue and green, with slight, thin slashes of pink here and there, dominated a single white wall, giving it the space and grandeur it needed. 

“It’s magnificent,” Dr. Stark remarked, coming up to her and smiling proudly. “Well-deserved in pride of place on the main wall.”

Dr. Stark was an intense, focused woman, both motherly and intimidating at the same time. Her auburn hair fell down her back and was half pulled back. Her eyes always looked at you as if she knew the measure of you right from the moment she met you. Brienne, always independent and wanting to do things her own way, nevertheless came to rely on her for her keen feedback on her work. Dr. Stark was a professor of art history, and exposed Brienne to a number of fantastic artists she had never heard of. It was sad to say, but Catelyn Stark was the closest thing she ever had as a mother in all her life. Her own mother had died when she was a toddler, and she had no memory of her.

Brienne smiled back shyly. “This wouldn’t have ever happened if it weren’t for you, Dr. Stark.”

The woman crinkled her eyes and squeezed Brienne’s arm, and looked up at her. “Catelyn. You’re a graduate now, and I’m no longer your professor. We can be colleagues, and at least friends, I hope.”

She nodded, smiling warmly. “I’d like that, Catelyn.”

Brienne stayed on the outskirts of the milling crowds. She knew that curators, gallerists, art critics, and investors came to the end of year shows, and it was a time for networking. Discovery of new and upcoming talent from the most prestigious art school in Westeros. Yet Brienne could not muster enough courage to start conversations or smile pleasantly. It was bad enough that she had dressed up for the event, in a yellow sleeveless shift dress that didn’t make her look too masculine and hideous. Still, she wished she had on her ratty paint splattered white shirt and jeans instead.

“Look at your painting, Brienne. It looks amazing.” Jon said, as he sidled up to her, his dark eyes playful and his loose black curls falling around his eyes just so. 

Brienne gave a pleased cry and hugged him, and hugged his girlfriend Ygritte and Asha, who both came up alongside Jon. 

“It looks freakin’ fantastic,” said Ygritte, tilting her head. “Though I don’t know if I understand it.”

“Of course you don’t understand it,” Asha remarked, her eyes narrowing and her mouth turned up into a crooked smile. “You’re a future journalist. You’re too wound up in facts and figures to get art.”

Ygritte grinned, her red hair flaming in the artificial lights. “I like it though, even though I don’t know what it means.”

“That’s the important bit,” Jon said, nuzzling his handsome face into his girlfriend’s hair. “To feel it, to have a reaction to it. Isn’t that what abstract art is all about?”

Brienne nodded. “Absolutely. If you asked me, I couldn’t tell you what it meant either.” She looked around the room. “Your works also look fantastic, Jon and Asha.”

Jon was obsessed with painting portraits. He used aggressive brushstrokes and bold colour, and seemed to capture the personality of the person that he painted. For the two years that they were friends, he had wanted to paint Brienne, at times even begged her, but she was much too self-conscious about her ugliness to ever have a portrait done of her. The thought made her shudder. Asha, on the other hand, marched to her own drum, and did video installations of herself dressed up in various historical figures from history and interacting with everyday people. The results were genuinely hilarious and at times poignant and enlightening.

“Well, I hope people actually stop and watch my installation,” Asha said, looking at her video which was projected at the dark corner of the room. 

“How could they not? Everyone’s addicted to TV,” Ygritte said reassuringly. Asha nodded, satisfied with such a logical answer.

“We’re going to say hi to some art critics,” Jon said. “Wanna come?”

Brienne grimaced and shook her head. She would rather fade into the background. She couldn’t help but smile when she observed the three of them walk away from her. She considered herself lucky to have become friends with them. Jon, in particular, had come to her aid after the whole bet to take Brienne’s virginity incident with the avant-garde group of Hunt, Connington and Mullendore, just to name a few. In fact, Jon and Brienne had gotten into a fist fight against the boys over the whole incident, and she found out that nothing bonded two people more like punching idiots together. Asha, one of the oddballs of the class who always dressed in skin-tight black leather or jeans and men’s white undershirts, somehow gravitated toward Brienne and Jon, as if sensing each other’s outsider status, even in the supposedly unconventional world of art school. 

“Brienne of Tarth,” a deep, smooth voice touched her ear like a sensuous caress.

It was Jaime Lannister, the man of the hour, dressed impeccably in a collarless white suit under a blue suit jacket, his hips well encased in well-fitting blue jeans. He regarded her with an amused and cockily tilt of the head.

“Jaime Lannister.” She cursed herself for being tongue tied and not being able do anything but stare at the gorgeous man before her. He looked as beautiful as she remembered, though his hair was a little shorter.

“I see you have not put the last two years to waste here. Congratulations on getting the top prize. Quite well-deserved, if I do say so myself.” He looked at her painting as if he were staring at a mesmerizing horizon.

Her face flamed. “Thank you, Jaime. It means a great deal, coming from you.”

“You have the capacity for making people feel peace with your painting.” He regarded her with an expression that held vague surprise. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I just paint what I feel. Or rather, what I want to feel, perhaps.”

Jaime nodded, a small smile at his lips as he continued to look at her work. He turned those brilliant eyes to hers now. “Tell me, Brienne Tarth,” he drawled charmingly, “Will you be staying in King’s Landing or will you be going back to your island? The isle must be extraordinary to produce the likes of you.”

Brienne shook her head. “No, not Tarth. There’s not much for me now that my father - well, I’m hoping to rent a little place in King’s Landing where I can paint in a little corner, I suppose.” 

Jaime furrowed his brow but did not question her rather mysterious allusion to her father. “I suppose King’s Landing is where an artist needs to stay to make it. There are many useful connections to be had, I suppose.”

Brienne nodded, knowing full well she was in no position to make any kind of connections, useful or not.

Jaime hesitated, paused, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a card, wrote something on it, and handed it to her.

She automatically took the card, staring at it like a fool. It was Jaime’s card, with his contact information and studio address. On it, he had written “ _May 4, Roseheart Gallery, 7pm._ ” She looked up at him in confusion.

Jaime grinned. “My new show. There’s a small preview in a couple of weeks. Not many people are invited. You should come if you’re free. Feel free to bring a friend.” 

Brienne looked down shyly and nodded. “I’d love to. Thank you, Jaime,” she marveled, in a high, disbelieving voice.

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “If you would excuse me. I have to make a quick escape since I see that Randyll Tarly is coming to wheedle out a favour or two, no doubt.” 

Brienne laughed. Jaime looked at her with a surprised look on his face. He grinned at her, and his smile so pure and filled with delight that she could not help but laugh even harder.

“I’ll see you at my show next week, Brienne of the isle of Tarth.” Jaime slipped away in the opposite direction as Dr. Tarly, and quickly became lost in a crowd. Brienne could not help but look at the card she held in her hand again. 

=====

The paintings were arranged simply in the white space, the large canvases spaced out evenly from each other. His new paintings, which were in his painstakingly ultra-realistic style that critics said evoked the grandeur of the Renaissance age, lured in the audience like windows that twinkled and beckoned. But instead of crowds of posed figures that dominated the art of old, Jaime’s paintings always featured one figure alone in an urban setting. A blond woman, her back turned, gazing out her modern apartment window as sunlight streamed in. An elegant woman, face turned away, gazing into the distance. A young boy sitting on a stoop of an old brownstone, the setting sun illuminating half his face. 

Some of his critics wondered why he bothered to paint so realistically - if realism was the object, why not just use a photograph? Jaime scoffed at these critics; it was precisely _because_ a painting could not be a photograph was the thing they missed. The gap between painting and photography, no matter how so-called realistic the painting may be, was the important thing. He was aware that his paintings looked more real precisely _because_ they were paintings. Colours were heightened, light a focus. His paintings gave more of a feeling of reality than a photograph ever could.

Even though this event was a preview for friends, other artists, and the top gallerists of the city, Jaime was still nervous, as he was prior to every gallery opening. Margaery Tyrell, the co-owner of Roseheart, had fought tooth and nail for the privilege to show Jaime’s newest works, even though she was his agent. As a consequence, the gallery commissions were at Jaime’s advantage. Admittedly, it was a bit of a dick move to seek other venues for his painting, going against the Tyrells, but it was his first show in three years and he wanted the most exposure. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Margaery that the gallery had always been his first choice, because Roseheart did, after all, have the reputation for showing the most exciting and up-and-coming artists going back decades. 

Jaime looked around at the milling crowd, all dressed to the nines in expensive cocktail dresses and bespoke suits. It was the usual crowd - even his father had bothered to come. There was Tyrion in the corner, chatting up the most beautiful women in the room; he did not yet see Cersei but she had said she would come, perhaps with Robert in tow, Jaime thought, a little bitterly.

Young, nubile women, decorated with jewelry and makeup, fawned and flirted at him, paying no heed to his lack of interest. Even a few handsome young men approached him, hoping that he would indulge them. 

Margaery, professional and attractive in a low-cut white pant suit, her brown hair swept into a chignon, approached him with her beaming, dimpled smile.

“Jaime,” the young woman purred, hooking her arm in his elbow. “This is going quite well.” She looked around at the crowd. “They love the new paintings. There has already been strong interest from a few interested buyers.”

Margaery gave his arm a squeeze. “Now you must try to be friendly, Jaime. At least just for tonight. No claws, alright?”

Jaime stared at the woman’s steely, determined face and nodded. “Fine. I’ll try not to raise a scene or punch anyone out or insult anybody tonight. Not that I’ve made a habit of it, Margaery.”

The young woman nodded and frowned, no doubt recalling his last gallery opening three years ago, when he’d been drunk and high on pain meds and did truly terrible things, or so he was later told. Apparently bitch slaps and upturned shrimp platters were involved. He remembered he had been upset because of Cersei, of course - it was always Cersei that upset him - and he had lost his mind. Strange thing was, he barely remembered why he was so angry at her in the first place; somehow his mind had held it for a second, and let it float away.

When she walked away, Jaime spotted a large, looming figure linger by the door, seemingly hesitant to come into the space. Her companion, a young, dark-haired man with a pouty face, urged her in; he vaguely recognized him as the one with the portraits, some of which Jaime had been rather impressed by. Brienne Tarth was taller than everyone around her, dressed much too casually but quite aggressively in black jeans, blue t-shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket that looked soft and well-worn. Her short hair was slicked back. She cut an intimidating figure, but she looked incredibly young, and a little frightened. He saw Margaery greet the new visitors, all smiles, and Brienne finally relaxed enough to tug her friend around the gallery to view the paintings. Jaime found himself oddly drawn to the young artist, who was a mass of contradictions. Her physicality was intimidating, but he found within her a gentleness and tentativeness that belonged to someone half her size. She was timid and shy, yet she spoke at times with complete confidence and conviction. Her paintings certainly possessed that conviction. The two paintings he saw by her were extraordinary, confident canvases that took him out of himself. He would never tell Brienne this, but he had bought that painting at the exhibit at the art school. The price was all too reasonable, as it was a ‘student’ work, but Jaime would have paid ten times that. He had placed the large canvas in his bedroom and he found it calming to be in its presence somehow.

He observed her looking at his work. She and her friend were animatedly gesturing at the works, talking about the paintings, seemingly engaged. It frankly transformed her, Jaime was surprised to note. Her cheeks were pink, her face animated, her eyes bright. Somehow, it made her strange crooked face rather...enchanting. Jaime decided to walk toward them. Seeing his approach, Brienne’s eyes got big and she looked a little panicked. 

“Brienne of Tarth. You came.” Jaime tried to smile at her reassuringly, aware that there was not much that was reassuring about him. He was all edges.

“Jaime. Yes, thank you for this.” She gestured vaguely into the air, then turned to Jon. “Oh, this is Jon Snow, a fellow graduate and friend of mine.”

Jaime grinned. “Portraits, yes. I like your style, Jon Snow.”

Jon Snow blushed, making him look like a teenage boy. “Thank you. Jaime. By the way. This is...spectacular work.”

Brienne nodded eagerly. “I really love them and feel like I could stare at them all day. The level of detail is exquisite. I wish I knew how you worked. To be a fly on the wall.”

Jaime looked at that bright grin displaying a genuine enthusiasm about his work he hadn’t seen in years, and found himself saying, “Well come to my King’s Landing studio. Tomorrow.” He raised his eyebrows. “That is, if you are really interested in seeing how I work.”

Brienne looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth open in shock.

“Jon is invited too, of course.”

Jon winced. “Gods, I wish I could but…”

“You’re spending the day with Ygritte’s family who’s in town,” Brienne said sympathetically.

“Ygritte?” Jaime asked, an eyebrow raised.

“My girlfriend.” Jon looked sheepish. “She’s very stubborn and insistent at times. Too much, really.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and smiled at the young man. “But that’s why you love her. She bosses you around.” Jon shrugged.

“Well then, Brienne of Tarth, you must visit then. 1pm? Give me your cell number and I can text you the details.”

Jon cackled. “Brienne doesn’t have a cell phone. A complete luddite, she is. And she won’t have a landline once the dorm kicks us out this month. You’ll have to write the address and time for her in her little notebook. She’ll be there.”

She sheepishly handed Jaime a small, brown notebook and pen that she retrieved from her jacket pocket. It was charming. He wrote down the address and directions from the university, and after a thought, wrote down both his cell, studio, and home numbers. Just in case.

She nodded, faintly blushing. “I’ll be there, Jaime. Thank you.”

Jaime nodded, giving her a dazzling smile. As she turned away, Jaime caught a slim figure slip through the door in the corner of his eye. Cersei. She had come. His heart raced. She wore a stunning short red dress that clung to all her curves. Her long blonde hair hung loosely in perfect waves, framing the most gorgeous face. _She came_. He wanted to run to her and bundle her in his arms. It was only then that he noticed Robert, lumbering in after his wife. He was fat and loud and already red-faced from drink. Jaime had no idea how every time he saw Robert he was always already drunk. It was vile. 

He found that his feet were moving in his cousin’s direction regardless of Robert, and she prized him with a seductive smile which seemed to promise dark and naughty things in the bedroom. 

“Jaime.” She leaned up and waited from him to kiss her cheek, which he did, despite wanting desperately to take her lips instead. She smiled. “You have the best of King’s Landing society here. Such a lovely turnout. Margaery says you might have already sold a few pieces.”

Jaime noticed that she had barely glanced at his paintings, which were all around them. She gave the paintings a seconds-long cursory look, then focused on the people in the room instead. He knew that she wasn’t interested in art of course, so it was logical that she didn’t see the appeal of his paintings, aside from their popularity and monetary value. He had to admit that in the dead of night, when he allowed himself to think of this, it had hurt him. His art was the most important thing in Jaime’s life, aside from Cersei, and it bothered him that she did not care for this life’s vocation. Still, he rationalized, she was perfect for him; after nearly two decades, he still wanted her body. He still loved her, he told himself.


	3. THREE

Brienne drove her baby blue pickup truck that once belonged to her dad to Jaime’s studio, which was in the industrial part of town in the outskirts of the city, overlooking Blackwater Rush. Once the home of several industries, the now defunct factories lay abandoned as the companies moved overseas. But the area around Jaime’s studio seemed to be undergoing a revival of sorts, as a series of small businesses were setting up shop in the area, attracted to its more reasonable rent while still being technically within the boundaries of the city. She passed a chocolate shop, a florist, and at least a few cafes and restaurants, though Brienne wondered if they could attract the numbers they needed to survive.

The studio itself was a nondescript two-storey grey concrete building with large windows. The front was plain, with no signage except for the small brass numbers embedded above the front door. She stood, staring at the doorbell, her finger hovering, hesitating. Brienne felt both excited and nervous; she did not know why Jaime Lannister, of all people, had singled her out. It wasn’t anything nefarious, she was sure, although Jon had speculated that Jaime seemed _very_ interested in her from the way he was looking at her. Of course she dismissed this, because it was utterly ridiculous that someone so handsome, rich and successful as Jaime Lannister would ever be attracted to one such as her. All she had to do was look in the mirror to see the truth. Nanny Roelle had made sure of that. She knew how others saw her as well - boys had been making fun of her for her ugliness all her life. It was only until she met Jon and Asha that she felt accepted amongst those her age. No, the thought that Jaime liked her looks was absurd; she was sure that he liked her talent, and perhaps that was reason enough for his attention. 

Besides, he saw how his whole face transformed when he saw that incredibly beautiful woman walk into the room. Jaime had followed her, and looked with yearning at the blonde beauty as if she could save him; his expression was both one of longing and long-time suffering. Side by side, they looked like twins, with their golden hair, sharp green eyes, and perfect bone structure. Moreover, Brienne instantly recognized the woman from Jaime’s art, though in all of his paintings over the years, her face was always turned away, so you could never see what she really looked like. But her form and the angles of her face were undoubtedly the same. Brienne had heard the rumours, of course, of his affair with the cousin he grew up with, how he almost suffered a breakdown when she had married the rich and powerful Robert Baratheon. Yet it seemed to Brienne, watching the two of them, that whatever they once had had not ended, although this was not noticed by her oblivious husband, who was loudly chatting up a series of young, pretty girls. Aside from the affair with Cersei Lannister, Jaime had the reputation of being nearly monk-like in his lack of romantic relationships.

Jaime opened the door, his eyes taking in the immensity of her. He smiled. “You made it,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. She tried not to stare. Jaime was simply dressed in an untucked white shirt and jeans, and the way they fit his very well-formed body made her blush.

The ceiling of the building was high, with exposed pipes and beams. The floor was glossy grey concrete. He led her down the hallway into a rather cozy, sunny room, with a desk, chairs, a large, comfortable looking couch in the corner, and shelves of books. There were layers of woven Dothraki rugs on the floor. 

“This is my office - where I do my paperwork. Sometimes I crash here, when I’m too exhausted to drive myself back home.” 

He opened a set of double doors to an immense, open space with large windows. The walls were white plaster. There were custom-made shelves to hold prepared canvases, moveable scaffolding to hold large canvases. Shelves of oil paint, thinners, rolls of canvas, brushes of all sizes all cleaned and organized by size. The concrete floor was splattered with paint. Brienne smelled the familiar and comforting smell of turpentine and oil paint, which always calmed her.

“This is...wonderful,” Brienne breathed, looking around at the space and light and amount of materials in this large space. This studio had just about everything, from couches in the corner, a shelf full of art books, and a large, industrial sink to wash up in.

“I have been lucky in my career,” Jaime acknowledged, his eyes studying her reaction. “I doubt that I would have made it without the connections I had when I first started out.”

Brienne shook her head and looked at him with conviction. “No, you are too good an artist not to have made it. It might have taken a lot longer and you would have struggled a lot more, but your work is undeniable.”

At her words, Jaime’s expression softened. 

Brienne walked to the large table in the middle of the room, and gently touched the sketches she found there. “May I?”

Jaime hesitated for a second, then nodded. “I don’t have paintings in progress at the moment, but those are sketches I’ve been working on.”

She carefully flipped through the drawings, some mere rough outlines of a few pencil strokes, some more intricate. They all were of the same woman: Cersei Lannister.

“This woman,” Brienne said, looking up from her perusal of the sketches. “She’s the woman in all your paintings. You love her.”

Jaime stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Cersei, my cousin. I’ve loved her since we were children.”

His face was tight and unreadable, his mouth tense.

“I’m sorry.” Brienne looked at him with wide eyes, her face sorrowful.

He stared at her, his expression puzzled, his hands clenched into fists.

“That you can’t _be_ with her.” Brienne felt her cheeks turn pink. She had no idea why these words were coming out of her mouth.

Jaime sighed, and flopped himself onto the worn leather sofa. “Well, that’s how she wanted it. I’m beginning to realize that I have loved her more than she’s ever loved me, fool that I am. That is, if she is even capable of such a love. Sometimes I wonder….” 

“Well, I’m sorry,” Brienne said sincerely, standing in front of his seated form. “You deserve to be loved, Jaime Lannister.”

He looked up at her now, his face raw and open, his green eyes displaying surprise and disbelief.

“What is it about you, Brienne of Tarth,” his eyes roamed her face, “That makes me say all these things to you, things I would never say to even those in my own family?”

“We barely know each other. Perhaps that’s why.” Brienne looked down at him kindly.

Jaime shook his head, and patted the seat beside him. She sat down.

“No, there is something about you, Brienne. Somehow, I trust you. Isn’t that absurd? We’ve barely even met. Perhaps it’s your paintings that do that to me, that make me feel so close to you.”

Brienne looked at him steadily, unsure of what to say after such an astonishing admission. “Well, I won’t ever betray your confidence, Jaime. That is, if you need a friend.”

He smiled softly. “Well, I don’t have many friends. We Lannisters tend to stick to ourselves, and all the people around me seem to always want something from me.” He raised an eyebrow. “But I don’t get that sense from you, Brienne.”

She shook her head, vehement. “No, of course not.”

“I wonder how you’ve grown up in this day and age, going through that art school nonetheless, to remain so pure and good.” He cocked his head as he stared at her.

Brienne felt her face heat up. Jaime, seeing her reaction, grinned and got up. 

“Come,” he said, walking toward the door. “I want to show you something.”

They went back to the hallway and through a door. They climbed up the sturdy metal stairs. He unlocked the door, and held it open for her to go through. It was a large, dusty space, with unused frames, knickknacks, and odd bits of furniture piled in odd corners. Like the first floor, there were large windows which allowed light. There was also a large skylight in the middle of the room, making the space even brighter. He led her through a set of doors to reveal a studio apartment, with a tiny kitchen, mismatched dining table and chairs. There was a washroom with a large tub and shower.

“What do you think?” Jaime said, looking at her eagerly.

“The light is beautiful. It has a lot of potential.” She gave him a confused glance. “Are you planning to live here, Jaime? I thought you already had an apartment downtown?”

Jaime let out a delighted laugh. “Gods, you _are_ innocent.” He took a step closer to her and grinned. “This could be your new studio and living space, if you like it, Tarth.”

Her jaw dropped and she could only gape. She looked around her and gave him an utterly perplexed look.

“What? You can’t mean that.”

Jaime shrugged. “Of course I do. Look. The second floor hasn’t been used for anything, and as you can see, it’s going to waste.” He looked a little embarrassed. “Don’t get mad, but I did a little digging around on you after I saw you at the school. I know you don’t have much money. You’re alone. You said you wanted to stay in King’s Landing to work on your art.”

She was dumbfounded. “But -”

“I believe in your art, Brienne. I’ve never seen anyone with so much potential come out of that school. I don’t want you to struggle with a stupid, minimum wage job just so you could eat and make rent and do painting on the side. I want you to paint and make art. It’s what you were born to do.”

“Jaime, thank you, but I can’t accept. It’s too much. Too generous.”

He gave her a crooked, sardonic smile. “I’ve never been called _generous_ before. I’m not much known for it, to be honest. I remember starting out as a young artist, but I already had my own studio, even a fancy apartment, all paid for by the Lannister family funds, even though my father did not approve of my chosen career. So consider this a kind of paying it forward. It might be the only not entirely selfish thing I’ve ever done in my life, if I were to be honest with myself.”

“I want to pay rent.” Brienne’s tone was determined.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do with the extra money? Look at this place - it’s a dump and you’ll have to do a lot of work on it to make it remotely livable. That’s already doing me a favour.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her an arch look. “Besides, I propose you pay rent by giving me one piece of art every couple of months - it can be a small painting, a drawing, whatever. How does that sound?”

The offer was much too good for her to turn down. Yet Jaime Lannister was a complete stranger even if she had lived with his paintings for most of her life. But she was getting kicked out of the dorms at the end of the month, and she had been the only one of her friends who had not secured housing yet. It had been a daunting situation - she would have had to find a job to earn money to pay her rent. But this opportunity to have her own space to paint and live without the financial worry, was too tempting. Earlier, Jaime had said that he trusted her for some inexplicable reason. Well, she somehow trusted him as well.

She gave a resolute nod. “Alright. I’ll live here. And pay you rent in art.” 

Jaime’s shoulders relaxed and his face betrayed relief. “Good. You can move in any time.” 

And with that, he grabbed her hand and dropped the keys into her palm. Brienne felt an excited thrill run up her spine.

=====

Brienne started working on the second floor right away, bringing her friends Jon and Asha to help clear the clutter and start cleaning the mess upstairs. Jaime assumed that it would take weeks to get the studio and apartment into shape, but when Jaime visited just a mere week later, most of the salvageable items had been moved to basement storage and the junk hauled away in Brienne’s dusty old truck. Luckily, it seemed that there was enough furniture up there for the apartment itself, including a large wooden bed and comfortable leather couches. Jaime offered to buy her new furniture, but Brienne merely shrugged and stated she had everything she needed.

Jaime had been busy with the show’s opening, and mostly stayed downtown to do press, promote his exhibit, and meet with prominent gallerists about future projects. When he did swing by the studio, it was just to use his office or pick up various things he needed. There was a back entrance to the stairwell that led up to the upper floors, so Jaime barely saw his new tenant even when he was around. He had an urge, when he glimpsed her from his window carrying groceries from her truck or taking an afternoon walk, to just run up to her and join her in whatever she was doing. He supposed he was lonely. He hadn’t heard from Cersei since the show weeks ago, and she wasn’t responding to his messages. He knew from looking at her social media that she was around, and apparently doing well, according to the pictures she posted of herself doing family things with Robert and Tommen. The images she posted had made him laugh, for Cersei was far from the devoted wife and mother type. She was more of a poisonous snake type, but she was aware of creating her ‘brand’ as a hot but loving mother. Jaime exhaled, frustrated. He was tired of all her facades.

His fingers flipped through his sketches, all of Cersei, as was his usual habit. The image of her rose clear from his mind and expressed itself through his fingers. Drawing her was a compulsion. He winced as he recalled how clearly Brienne had read him, and pitied him for his pathetic, hopeless love.

There was a knock on his studio door.

“Come in,” Jaime said, turning around. Brienne stood awkwardly near the door in a black t-shirt and jeans that hugged the tall, lean length of her. Her fine, straw-coloured hair swooped along her ears. Once again, he was startled by the blueness of her eyes. Somehow, seeing them always shook something loose in him. 

“Jaime.” She fidgeted adorably. “I was wondering, if you had time, if you wanted to come up. To see the space. And have dinner, if you want.”

He stared at her in surprise, and he felt his insides warm at the thought of spending time with her. “Thank you, Brienne. Yes. To both suggestions.” 

As he followed her up the stairs, he couldn’t help but admire her muscular but surprisingly well-shaped backside, and those long legs that seemed to go on and on in those tight black jeans. Unbidden, his mind imagined his hands peeling them slowly off her, revealing the pale expanse of leg and skin. To Jaime’s astonishment, his cock started to make itself known. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He thought of Cersei’s haughty and judgmental face, which was a surprisingly good anecdote to the growing problem in his pants.

When he entered her rooms, he was taken completely by surprise by the transformation. Everything was clean; the miracle worker before him had somehow divested the rooms of its dust and stale air. The studio was bright and open, a breeze coming in through the windows. Paints and brushes were organized on one large metal shelf. She seemed to have been inspired by his organizing system downstairs, for there was a larger shelf which held canvases all in a neat row. A working table and chairs were in one corner. Rugs, a couch and some cushions, and a coffee table in another. 

“This is...unexpected,” Jaime exclaimed, unable to hide his surprise and admiration at the change.

Her skin took on a blush of pink. “It was hard work. But Jon and Asha helped, even though they were in the midst of moving themselves. As you can tell, I was inspired by your set up downstairs.” She looked proud, and smiled shyly at him. “I’ve never had such a large space for myself to paint - even in school we had to share the studio. This - this - is such a luxury. I can’t thank you enough.”

Jaime felt an unexpected flush of pleasure at her words. He shook his head. “I won’t hear of it, Tarth. This entire floor was going to waste, as you well know. I’m glad that you’re here to take advantage of it. Plus, you’ve done me a huge favour by cleaning this place up.”

She led him into her apartment, and he was struck again at how different the room looked. The furniture was minimal, with the large bed in one corner, a couch and armchairs in another. A small dining room and chairs. A small desk with a computer.

“Ah, so you do have a computer after all.” Jaime said, grinning.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t have a cell phone, doesn’t mean I’m stupid about technology. I just don’t want to be at anyone’s beck and call.”

Jaime inwardly winced at her last remark. Being at one particular person’s beck and call was definitely the case with him. All he did was wait for Cersei to call him, to invite him over. It was all rather pathetic, really.

“Do you drink? I’ll make you something.” Brienne grinned and gestured for him to sit on the couch.

“I do. Lannisters love to drink, though I don’t do it to excess like the rest of my family,” he said lightly, his mind again turning to Cersei’s frequent drunken tirades and subsequent booty calls.

“I don’t really drink that much either, but I love fancy cocktails. It’s an art form, you know.” She was in the kitchen now, opening cupboards and bringing out bottles.

Soon enough, she handed him a golden liquid in a coupe glass, garnished with a twist of lemon. He brought it to his lips. It was bracingly good: ice cold, lemony, and sweet, with a bright piney kick of gin. He grinned.

“Bee’s Knees,” Brienne said brightly. “Gin, lemon, honey. Simple, but delicious.”

Those same words could have described the dinner she prepared: a lemon roast chicken with roast vegetables, a salad with sharp ginger dressing, and an apple tarte. 

“This was wonderful, Brienne,” he said sincerely, when they moved over to sit in the living room area with a few more drinks in them. “I’m used to eating out, and at Casterly Rock our family had a cook, but I’ve never really experienced a meal that was made with such care.”

“I like to cook.” Brienne said plainly. “I had to learn a few years after my brother Galladon died. My father afterwards hired a horrible nanny to look after me, but when she left after my 14th birthday, I took over the cooking and running of the household. My father, for the lack of a better term, lost himself into his work in local Tarth politics. He seemed to care about the isle and all its residents, but he seemed to forget a little about me.”

“Gods, I’m sorry, Brienne.” He stared at her hands which were gripping themselves tightly.

Brienne shrugged. “You said you looked me up. I’m sure you also know about the deaths of my mom and my infant sisters. And that my dad died just after I graduated high school. The money I inherited from selling our house was how I was able to afford art school in the first place.”

He nodded. He had come across that information; Selwyn Tarth was a prominent local politician, and his fatal car accident even made the news over in King’s Landing.

He looked at her pale face, her chin wobbling slightly with emotion. Those bloody beautiful, sad eyes.

“I admire you, you know.” He noticed her flash of surprise. “You don’t seem to have been affected by all that loss. I mean, you feel it, obviously, but there remains an innocence about you that is frankly surprising. Even when I was your age, I was bitter and angry at the world, and lashed out when bad things came my way. I was, and still am, a self-pitying fool.”

Brienne gave him a gentle look which all but disarmed him. “I don’t see you as a bitter, self-pitying fool. I had heard about your bad boy reputation of course, but the man I see in front of me has been nothing but kind and honourable. You are a good man, Jaime. It’s as clear to me as day.”

Something came over him and he surrendered to the impulse to grab her hand. Brienne started, looking at him with wide eyes. Her hand was almost as big as his, but her fingers were longer and feminine and elegant; her nails were short, the fingertips slightly callused. She was warm. And she did not pull away.

“The work saved me from sliding into darkness,” she said in a low voice. “The painting. The visions I had of a peaceful place. The brush and the canvas and the line are the only pure things I have left in the world. It’s been hard to be alone. But I realize in the last couple of years that I don’t necessarily have to choose to be alone.”

“I wish I had your conviction. And your strength, Brienne.” Jaime squeezed her hand and turned it over, running his fingers over the palms and knuckles. “I’m a weak man. I want the impossible, even though it no longer sustains me. I cling to what’s already dead, deluding myself all the while.”

“Are you talking about your cousin?” Brienne’s voice was soft, her melodic tones drawing something mysterious out of him. 

“Cersei. I don’t know why I still love her. She clearly doesn’t love me anymore. But I do everything she asks, I wait for her to call and immediately go to her when she does.” He looked at her with anguished eyes. “We were thirteen when it first happened. We were as good as siblings at that time, having grown up together. But she entranced me - she was so beautiful, and she was at that time an unsure, frightened young girl, and the fact that she wanted me…. My father, not to mention my brother Tyrion, strongly disapproved, said it was wrong, but that made us all the closer. But as she grew older, she became a woman I barely recognized, let alone _liked_ as a person. She’s mean, vindictive, impulsive. But always beautiful. And I continued to love her, even when she married another. I don’t know how to get out. This need for her suffocates me.” Jaime, overcome with despair, lowered his head into his hands. 

Gods, he was burning with embarrassment but at the same time glad that he had told someone. He had never been able to discuss his complicated feelings for Cersei with Tyrion, who was his closest friend. Yet no matter if she avoided him after this or never invited him into her studio ever again, he was glad it was _her_ that he told, someone good and pure of heart. 

Then he felt it, a gentle hand on his shoulder, tentative at first, but stronger as she squeezed his shoulder and stroked his back. Her hands were large and warm and comforting, and he felt his breath slow. He turned toward her, blindly reaching out - then her long arms were around him and his were wrapped around her solid, muscular back. He felt her quiet and stillness, and somehow, his own sadness fell away, leaving him with a blissful feeling of being accepted. When had anyone hugged him like this? When had he ever felt comfort in anyone’s arms? He certainly never felt this peace with Cersei - she barely hugged him. He clung to Brienne for too long, he suspected, but he didn’t care. She breathed with him and his heart warmed. 

When they finally pulled apart she looked at him with eyes that were clear and determined and kind. He nearly broke into tears at her utter decency. Had he been so corrupted that a simple act of kindness would undo him?

She wanted him to stay, and insisted he was in no state to drive back to his apartment in the city, even though he wasn’t drunk. She declared that even one drink was too much to drive, clearly remembering the drunk driver that hit her father’s car those years ago. She offered him her bed, and she said would take the couch, but Jaime still had a bit of gentleman left in him and told her he would sleep in his office downstairs, as was sometimes his custom.

As he said goodbye, he couldn’t resist holding her hand again and giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. Brienne, adorable Brienne, blushed vividly and wasn’t able to meet his eyes. He tried not to stare at her plump lips too long. Gods, she looked young with those eyes and those blushes. He was a cad for just wanting her just a little bit. He put on a smile, a broad charming one, full of bluster, bowed slightly, and made his merry way back to his studio.

The sound of her metal door closing made him wince. It sounded so final.


	4. FOUR

The moment Jaime started to confess his ambivalent feelings about his cousin and poured out his complicated thoughts about himself, Brienne knew she was in danger. Here was this man, utterly breathtaking and golden and shining, with a jawline and bone structure that even a movie star would kill for, who seemed to trust her with his deepest secrets for no reason at all, and who seemed to like _who_ she was and _how_ she was - here he was, right in front of her, near tears and practically begging for the affection that he’d never had in all his life. He looked so hopeless, crumpled on the couch, his head in his hands. She couldn’t resist touching his strong shoulder, her hand steady and calm. And so she was helpless when he desperately turned to her for an embrace. He felt too good in her arms and she likewise felt warm and strangely protected when his own arms drew around her.

Oh, Brienne knew she was in danger, alright. She knew that she was susceptible to a pretty face and kindness; years of pining over Renly proved that to her well enough. She still shook her head over her teenage self being completely head-over-heels in love with the very handsome and very gay Renly. And yet while part of her resisted Jaime’s allure, another part of her wanted to give herself over to these burgeoning feelings. _Why not?_ she thought. She knew there was no chance of him returning her affection; the words that poured from his lips about Cersei Lannister made that plainly evident. She was too ugly, and he likely thought of her as an overgrown child. But he clearly wanted to be friends, and friendship was something she could provide. She may end up loving or lusting after him in silence, but that would be her own secret to keep. Hers alone.

The next morning, she woke up early and changed into her sports bra, tank top and shorts for her morning jog. It was a habit that she got into after she had quit swimming in high school. Running was something her body craved to calm her down for the day and to keep her in a settled enough state to paint.

In the few weeks since she’d moved here, she found several routes near the studio, many near the water. There were usually no cars around and it was always peaceful; not a single soul was around. This morning, she took the path through the lovely thicket of trees nearby, marveling at the lush green of the foliage.

Upon her return, she found Jaime sitting on the stoop of the building, sipping from a large mug of coffee. He had a leonine, unkempt look and stubble on his cheeks that made him look exceptionally sexy. His thin white t-shirt clung to his torso and biceps. His own gaze was far from mild, roving up and down her bare legs, to her arms and to her red and sweaty face.

“You run,” Jaime drawled, squinting up at her in the morning sun.

She nodded.

“So do I. We could have gone out together.” His eyes continued to roam as she did her post run stretches.

“Next time,” Brienne said vaguely, a little confused at the way he was looking at her, as if he was trying to memorize the way her muscles flexed and moved.

Jaime grinned, getting up from his lounging position. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

At her surprised reaction, Jaime threw back a laugh, showing her his gleaming teeth. “I do have a kitchen downstairs, you know, and food. I’m not entirely useless. We’ll have to eat on my work table in my studio though.” He moved to enter the building but turned back to her. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Brienne nodded in agreement and finished up her leg stretches. She shook her head. A few weeks ago she would never have imagined that the great artist Jaime Lannister would be cooking her anything, let alone allowing her to live in the same building as him.

She returned to her rooms, quickly showered and washed her hair. In front of her wardrobe, she lamented the lack of nice or even vaguely feminine clothes. It was even a challenge to find clothes which didn’t have any paint on them. Sighing, she settled on a denim button down that was old and soft, and a pair of drawstring pants made of grey linen. 

Jaime flitted about a little nervously as he motioned for her to sit down at his work table. With a flourish, he set a plate down of eggs, hash browns and toast, and poured her a cup of coffee.

“I thought I had bacon, but apparently not,” he said, apologetically.

Brienne shook her head and laughed softly. “Jaime, this looks great. I just never expected that Jaime Lannister, of all people, would be making me eggs _ever_.”

He grinned, delight lighting his whole face. “Any time, Brienne. It’s the least I could do after your kindness last night.”

Brienne dug in at the food, which was surprisingly well cooked, though she couldn’t help but give him a skeptical look when he doused his whole plate with hot sauce. 

“Don’t judge. I happen to like my food to be a little more exciting, okay?”

Brienne guffawed. They ate in companionable silence. 

“This is nice. Eating together, that is. We should do it more often,” Jaime said, his eyes bright.

She agreed, nodding. She paused, remembering. “Jaime, do you have time to come up for a few minutes after we eat? I forgot to show you something yesterday.”

When they moved upstairs, Brienne led him to the shelves of her canvases. She gave him a nervous look. He looked back at her curiously, leaning forward to carefully look at paintings as she pulled the dozen or so canvases out one by one.

“It’s our agreement,” Brienne said, laying the paintings on the concrete floor to give him a better look at them. “I owe you a painting for rent. I haven’t had time to create anything new, but I thought you might like one of these that I’ve kept from art school. I know they aren’t very interesting-”

He threw her a sharp glance. “Tarth, these are incredible.” His eyes roamed over the squares of colour, the wobbly lines, the round, abstract forms.

“Gods, you already have such a strong point of view at such a young age.” Jaime’s voice was awed, as he walked back and forth amongst the paintings, carefully examining each one. Finally, he paused before the blue painting with a white grid. 

“This one,” he said confidently. “This was the first painting that I saw by you, two years ago. When we first met. Do you remember?”

Brienne blushed. “Of course I remember. It was literally the highlight of my month.”

“It’s even more captivating than I remember, and draws me in as much as it did back then.” He looked at her, his green eyes bright and glittering. “This will do for this month and the next, I think.”

Brienne bit her lip. She was struck with the thought of how fortunate she was, to be here at this very moment. “Jaime, I want to thank you again-”

He waved her words away. “You can stop thanking me, Tarth. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, trust me. I get to have your art which will doubtless someday be worth exponentially more than the cost of the rent.” He raised an eyebrow. “Plus, judging from your cooking and incredible listening skills, I’m sure I’ll be trying your patience on top of everything.”

Brienne smiled, and as she looked at him smiling at back her, his face unguarded and happy, she thought to herself that she would not mind it at all if he bothered her every single day.

=====

Jaime had finally returned to his downtown apartment, but as he looked around, he thought that there was something cold about the strong lines his décor and the modern furniture. The room seemed too spare and impersonal; this was an absurd notion, of course, since he very carefully decorated the place himself. Yet he felt a distinct lack of warmth about his surroundings, unlike in the studio. He knew vaguely that it had to do with his new - what? _Tenant? Friend? Acquaintance?_ He _hoped_ that they were friends, at the very least. There was something about Brienne Tarth that drew him to her; he wanted to get to know her more. Her talent was overwhelming but she had such modesty and humbleness about her which made her endlessly fascinating. He was certainly intrigued.

On an impulse, he removed one of his own paintings from the living room wall and replaced it with the blue painting that Brienne had given him that morning. He stepped back. That did it. The apartment was somehow alive again, warm and intimate. The art seemed to vibrate, its power vibrant and sort of - _singing_. The place felt like it gained a heartbeat. Jaime exhaled a long breath he didn’t even know he was holding. With her large painting in his bedroom and now this one, his apartment was on the way to become a gallery of Brienne Tarth’s art. Jaime smiled and didn’t think he’d mind at the slightest.

He felt a buzzing in his pocket and groaned. He hadn’t checked his phone since dinner the night before, and it was with a sense of dread that he looked at it and found a series of text messages, missed calls, and voicemails from Cersei. _Fuck_. Just as he suspected, she had summoned him, and as he failed to reply, the texts became increasingly angry. He only willed himself to listen to one of the voicemails, a snarling interrogation of his whereabouts and a demand that he call her right away. He felt a tight knot form in his stomach. He felt sick. A part of him longed to leave right away and fly to her side, but a part of him resisted, cold dread pouring into his whole being.

He looked at the blue painting again, seriously beholding it, _considering_ it, and slowly felt some of his anxiety fall away. He felt he was looking at the sea and the skies all at once, and sensed the infinity of them as he continued to look into the blue. It was calming. He thought of how meeting Brienne and getting to know her made him feel lighter and more hopeful. It had shown him that there was another way to exist, another path that was not cragged, morally corrupt, twisted or thorny. He had walked that latter path all his life, following his cousin, trailing after her skirts. The forbidden path of bedding a near-sister while his father disapproved, and as she cuckolded her oblivious husband. 

Later that day, he had placated Cersei enough with repeated phone calls to convince her to meet him for dinner at a high-end restaurant. He used his fame and family name to request a private dining room, to make sure they would not be interrupted or overheard. Being with Cersei had made him a master of hiding in plain sight; after all, nearly all of their fucks had been quick and clandestine, apart from a night or two when Robert was away on business, and of course, those blissful early days of their teenage love.

She arrived in a familiar cloud of dark and sweet perfume, dressed, he realized, to seduce him. Her dress was burgundy, low-cut and tight, displaying the fullness of her breasts and the slim lines of her figure. Her hair was long and hung in honeyed waves, her face expertly made up and her lips a deep crimson. A part of him yearned to sweep her into his arms and ravish her on the table right there. She smiled at him smugly, clearly recognizing the effect her beauty had on him.

She embraced him and planted a kiss on his cheek and she pulled away, smiling at him sweetly. Her scent enveloped him, and the effect was both familiar and unsettling.

“Jaime, my love. I’ve missed you.” Her green eyes gleamed as her lips formed into a pout.

“Cersei, you look beautiful as usual. Thank you for meeting me here tonight.” He pulled out her chair and assisted her to sit. An unobtrusive waiter came in and poured Cersei a glass of red wine. She nodded with approval. Took a demure sip. 

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “Well, I only managed to slip out - luckily Robert is watching the game with his buddies.” She sighed dramatically. “Why couldn’t you come over last night, Jaime? I _longed_ for you. I was waiting for you.”

Jaime felt a little too warm in the room. “Cersei, I can’t be at your beck and call and drop everything just to come to you.”

A flash of anger contorted her face. “And why not? It’s always worked before. You’ve always come. What made it different this time? Were you on a date? Were you fucking someone else?”

Jaime let out a bitter laugh. “I think fucking someone else is more your style, dearest sweet cousin.” He laughed even harder at her astonished glance. “Oh, I’ve been told about Lancel, and the Kettleblack brothers. I assume there are many more I haven’t heard about.”

Her cheeks flushed with rage. “Lies, all lies, Jaime. You know I’ve loved only you.” Her face softened then, and she pawed at his arm and squeezed it.

Jaime shook her head. “I don’t know if you’re exceptionally good at lying or if I just wanted to believe you. I’ve known about your other men, Cersei, and yet I still let myself be led by you. I actually convinced myself that the rumours weren’t true.” His voice took on a determination. “But I can’t do this anymore, Cersei. I’ve devoted practically all my life to you. But it’s not enough. I know you’ve never loved me as I loved you.”

“Jaime, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cersei pleaded, her eyes going wide. “We belong together. We’re twin souls. No one can ever come between us, I promise.” Her fingers grabbed his arm, and moved down to his groin, as she started to press and stroke him through his pants. His body, trained at her touch, responded and he felt his cock start to swell. Cersei licked her lips, victory in her eyes. Fighting himself, Jaime grabbed her hand and forcibly removed it from his cock. She hissed her annoyance.

“Is that it, then? Two decades of being together and it ends pathetically, like this?” Her eyes were incendiary, boring into him. “I hear you’ve found a fresh young thing out of art school to fuck. I never thought you’d be so cliché, Jaime. It must be nice having such a young girl hanging onto your every word.” Cersei sniffed. “I know you’ve moved her into your studio.”

Jaime shook his head, wondering why he had even wanted her just now. “Gods, you’re rational as ever, Cersei. And as always, your information is completely wrong. I’m not dating or fucking anybody, least of all the promising artist I offered studio space to. As you know, you’re the only person I’ve been with. Too bad I can’t say the same for you.”

Cersei huffed and drowned her wine in one long gulp. She stood up to go.

“Well, _fuck_ you, Jaime. You know something? You’ve never been enough for me. Always too soft and weak. Come back to me when you decide to be a man. I might even forgive you for whatever mid-life crisis you’re going through.” With those words, she turned and stormed away, her stilettos clacking violently against the stone floor.

Jaime could not deny that he was shaken from the encounter. He felt a little faint and gulped down his tumbler of whisky. It always bothered him to upset Cersei and see her in a rage. His instinct was always to placate and give in. But this had gone on too long. He had even ignored the evidence that Tyrion presented to him weeks ago about Cersei’s other infidelities, hoping naively that they were just misleading and untrue. He had denied the truth when it was grasping and shaking him by the collar. Most of all, Jaime was just tired. He had run after her for too long, and it was time to face the truth about the woman he’d been in love with for twenty years. For far too long, his life had been all about pleasing Cersei. No longer. It was time to live his own life now.


	5. FIVE

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

“It’s so nice that you were able to tear yourself away from your girlfriend for a night out with your friends, Snow.” Asha smirked, her kohl-rimmed eyes widening in amusement. She had on an absurd black flapper dress with beads and tassels that moved and shook with every movement. The three of them were sitting in their not-so usual bar, the kind of bar they liked to go when they were feeling a little posh. It had been a ritual to dress up in their finest duds and pretend to be highborn and rich.

This place was also Asha’s favourite place to pick up men, who were either rich or lonely or both (on the other hand, the dive bar they sometimes went to was the best place to pick up women, according to her); Brienne often watched the proceedings with the fascination of a viewer observing a nature documentary on television. Besides, The Sans Souci had incredible cocktails and the finest local craft beer, not to mention the best dressed staff. And their washrooms were clean and appropriately fancy, with little cloth towels instead of paper ones.

Jon coloured and threw her an annoyed glance. He was wearing a black suit jacket with a white t-shirt underneath. He looked quite dashing.

“Awww, Asha, give Jon a break. He and Ygritte are in love.” Brienne carefully sipped her icy gin martini, trying not to disturb her lipstick. 

“Here’s the thing. I don’t know how they haven’t killed each other at this point, in such close quarters. They’re so different. And they’re always arguing.” Asha shrugged.

“Gods, you two. I’m right _here_. You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not even present.” Jon pouted his well-shaped lips, making him resemble a kicked puppy. “Besides, since neither of you has been in love, you wouldn’t understand the sexual excitement that comes from arguing with someone, then making up.”

Asha rolled her eyes. “I’ve slept with way more men and women than both of you combined, which is, unfortunately, not saying much, since one of you is still a virgin.”

“Hey,” Jon protested, “No need to bring Brienne into this.” He stared at Brienne’s suddenly very pink cheeks. 

“Gods, it’s always you two against the world.” Asha grumbled. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, just as there’s nothing wrong with sleeping around and not being in a pseudo committed relationship like you are, Snow.”

Asha turned to Brienne. “You’re waiting for the right man, aren’t you? You seem like the romantic type.” She looked her up and down, taking in the red lipstick that Brienne dared to wear and the black dress from years ago that was loose fitting and comfortable, though a little too short. “I’m sure you could have lost it by now if you wanted to.”

Brienne felt her face flame. Again. “Gods Asha. You don’t know what it’s like - you’re tiny and exude sexuality, and all sorts of people come on to you. It’s so easy for you. It’s not easy for people like me.”

Asha scoffed. “People like you? Tall, Amazonian goddesses with those legs, and not an ounce of fat on that tall frame?”

“Don’t mock me,” Brienne was sure she looked entirely hideous at the moment, with her red face and scowl.

“Gods, here we go again. You think you’re so ugly. Newsflash, Brienne. You’re godsdamn sexy, not to mention talented to boot. In fact, if we weren’t such good friends and you weren’t one hundred percent heterosexual, I would fuck you in an instant.” Asha turned to Jon. “Wouldn’t _you_ , Jon?”

Jon looked startled as the women trained their eyes on him. For a second he was speechless. He leaned forward. “Okay. I will _kill_ both of you if this ever got back to Ygritte. But yes, I would sleep with you in a heartbeat, Brienne. I mean, I even _hoped_ , when we first met, you know?” He paused, then shook his head. “But I’m so happy with Ygritte right now. I mean, don’t tell her I just said that, okay, that I wanted to fuck you at one point?”

Brienne looked at them with a stunned expression, then shook her head. “Gods, you two are ridiculous.” She took a sip of her drink. “But you’ve made me feel better and made me think I’m not entirely a lost cause.”

Asha scowled. “Fuck Brienne, don’t get those Connington and Hyle dicks get into your head. What they did to you was shit, but they’re a bunch of assholes with no taste and no talent.”

“Yeah, I mean, look at their art.” Jon guffawed, bringing about howling laughter from both Brienne and Asha. Brienne coloured as she felt eyes turn toward their table. Her laugh was always too boisterous and too loud, when she really let go like she just did. It was mortifying.

Moments later a server came by and delivered three golden coloured cocktails at their table.

“Three Bee’s Knees, courtesy of a fellow guest,” the man smoothly announced before he left.

Asha stared at Brienne. “Hey, that’s your go-to drink. Curious.” She sat up from the booth and looked around.

She gasped. “Gods, look!” Jon and Brienne turned to the direction of the woman’s stare. There, in a corner booth, sat Jaime, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, and the shorter man that Brienne recognized from the show as his brother, though they had never actually met. The two men grinned and raised their drinks in a toast. Asha waved and smiled broadly, miming thanks. They all turned back around.

“So, you and Jaime Lannister? Does he _like_ you, Brienne?” Asha smirked.

Jon leaned in to listen to her answer. 

Brienne blushed and threw her friend a reproachful look. “Of course not! Do you think a man like him would ever want a woman like me?”

Jon cocked his head. “There you are, underestimating your own qualities, Brienne. Though to be fair, I have seen him in pictures with that cousin of his. She’s very beautiful. Didn’t they date years ago?”

Brienne shrugged. “The point is, men like Jaime Lannister go out with supermodel types.”

Asha looked at her skeptically. “Then why would he have given you the use of a studio? Or sent us your favourite cocktail of all time?”

She scowled at her two friends. “Gods, you are missing the point entirely. Men like Jaime Lannister-”

“There are no men like me, Tarth. Only me.” Interjected the smooth, deep voice of the man himself. All three of them snapped their heads to the two men standing in front of their booth.

“Jaime Lannister! Care to join us?” Asha, gestured for Jon and Brienne to squeeze over, allowing Jaime and Tyrion to slide next to Brienne.

Jaime grinned, shoving his way beside Brienne and making room for Tyrion. There was a round of introductions, and Brienne felt that Tyrion was eyeing her a bit too keenly. She flushed as she felt Jaime’s body pressed against her, his hip against hers. He was warm and gods, she could smell the faint sandalwood scent of his soap.

“You look great tonight,” Jaime whispered, his breath warm in her ear. She turned to look at him and was nearly overwhelmed by the nearness of those green eyes, but she saw no hint of mockery in his face. She nodded her thanks.

“What are you doing here,” Tyrion asked. “Special occasion?”

Asha shook her head and threw the small man a flirtatious look. “Hardly. The three of us like to dress up and come here every once in a while, for the change of scene. And you two?”

Tyrion grinned, eyeing Asha up and down. “Well, my dear brother happens to live just a few blocks away, and we had some catching up to do.” He stole a sly glance at Jaime. “In fact, we are celebrating something tonight. The emancipation of Jaime Lannister from a very terrible destiny with a very terrible person.”

“Tyrion.” Jaime growled a warning. Brienne gave him a curious look.

“Ah. I shall say no more.” Tyrion grinned, giving his brother a wink.

They drank and talked, and Tyrion moved seats to plaster himself beside Asha, who was very receptive to the man’s intentions. Tyrion was involved in the family business and spoke about investment banking and other things that Brienne couldn’t follow. Jon watched the proceedings with amused eyes, checking his phone every once in a while. By the end of the night, everyone at the table was pleasantly drunk, and she was pleased to see how free Jaime’s smiles were to her. Brienne felt warm all over, not only intoxicated by the very good cocktails, but by the utter beauty of the man sitting so close to her that she could touch him. At times, she felt herself just staring at him. It was a little embarrassing, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Looking at Jaime’s face was like looking at the stars: unreachable, untouchable, yet no less wondrous. 

Despite everyone’s protest, the Lannister brothers took care of the tab at the end of the night. 

“Nonsense!” Tyrion insisted, his arm around Asha’s waist. “The Lannisters are rich, and how bad would it look if we didn’t help out some up-and-coming young artists? Consider it our contribution to the art world. Besides, we are celebrating Jaime’s freedom!”

Asha laughed, and whispered in Tyrion’s ear. They left together soon after.

Jon gave her a kiss on the cheek before he left to join Ygritte at home, giving Jaime a long look.

That left Brienne sitting there with Jaime. She slid out of the booth and stood up, but her legs wobbled, and she faltered, only to be caught by the waist by the golden man of the hour. She blushed. His arm lingered around her and he looked at her with gentle concern.

“Are you okay going all the way back home by yourself? I can accompany you-”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” she stammered. “I can call a taxi.”

Jaime hesitated, then his face set in determination. “Look. I live a couple blocks away and I have a spare room. I’d feel much better if you stayed there for the night.”

Brienne stared at him, unsure of what to say. Jaime let her go but took her hand, and started to lead her toward the exit. 

“Come,” he said, his tone accepting no argument.

“Okay,” she found herself saying.

=====

Jaime’s apartment was unlike any other apartment she’d ever been in. There was a doorman, and his apartment had two floors. The lines were sleek and modern and every wall had a window, but there were artistic touches everywhere, like the blue couch, or the large shelves filled with art books. The kitchen counters were blue and white marble, and floors were warm swirls of golden brown cork. 

On one of the walls, he’d hung her blue painting. She stood in front of it, a little perplexed.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I loved your art, Tarth,” Jaime said, appearing at her side.

Brienne smiled. “It looks good here. Like it belongs.”

“I completely agree.” He turned to her. “Look - just make yourself at home here, okay? Drink or eat whatever’s in the fridge, watch TV, anything. You’re welcome here.”

Brienne nodded shyly and murmured her thanks. He led her to the spare bedroom, which was large, and had a king-sized bed in the middle of it, along with an ensuite bathroom.

“There are spare toothbrushes and toiletries and towels already in the bathroom. I can bring you a t-shirt and sweats that you can sleep in. It looks like we might be around the same size.” Jaime looked her over, and seemed to linger on the grand expanse of leg revealed by her all too short dress.

Brienne blushed and nodded. Jaime went into the room next door and emerged moments later with some clothes in his hand, which he handed off to her.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face, using the very luxurious brand of soaps and creams that Jaime had supplied. She still could not believe the opulence of the place; even the bathroom had a deep soaker tub, blue tiles, and white marble. The clothes he had lent her - a buttery soft grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants - fit her well enough. She felt a lot more comfortable now she was out of her party dress. There was a pleasant liquidy feeling in her limbs, and she felt happy, as if she were floating a little. However, she realized that she should drink some water before she went to bed, to ward off any possible hangover the next morning.

When she came downstairs she found Jaime, dressed in similar sweats but sitting on the couch, looking troubled and so unlike the smiling man she’d earlier encountered. She went to the kitchen and filled two tall glasses of water. He didn’t seem to notice her until she had sat down next to him and handed him the glass.

“Brienne,” he said, turning to her, his eyes regarding her and giving her a small smile.

“Jaime - is anything wrong? Do you want to talk?”

He shook his head. “You should sleep. It’s late. I don’t mean to bother you with my mood. You’ve done so much for me already.”

She vehemently shook her head. “Nonsense. I’m not that tired, and you just seem so sad. If talking to me would help, I’d like to listen.” She touched her hand to his, and Jaime startled at the unexpected touch, but grabbed her hand and held it in return.

He stared at her, his green eyes soft and his mouth slack. He looked down at their joined hands.

“Tyrion. He said we were celebrating. And we were - I felt free for the first time in years, hopeful, and the night was made even better when we encountered you and your friends. It seemed like another life had opened up for me. A new future.” He shook his head. “Gods, I’m telling this ass backwards.”

Brienne made an encouraging sound and squeezed his hand.

Jaime took a deep breath. “Last night, I met with Cersei - she’d been upset that I hadn’t come to her when she called. She got angry. Cersei always gets angry. Anyway, I met with her last night and broke it off. I told her that what we had couldn’t continue, that what we were doing was wrong.”

Jaime let out a bitter laugh. “She didn’t take it well, of course. She said terrible, mean things, but was convinced that I’d crawl back to her one day. At the time, I felt good about it. It seemed like it was the one thing that I was finally doing right.”

He let go of her hand and drank from the glass of water. “But right now, it feels like - like - I’ve lost a part of myself. Like I’ve lost my right hand or something. I’ve been tied to her, mixed up with her, entwined in her schemes since we were children. I’m at a loss at what to do. How to _be_. Who am I without her constantly in my thoughts? Who am I without that constant need of her?”

He turned to her desperately, his eyes a little wild. “Brienne, you’ve seen my paintings, my sketches. I end up drawing her even when I don’t realize it. She’s everywhere. It’s like she’s embedded into my whole fabric of being. I know I did the right thing in finally breaking things off with her, but I just don’t know how to be myself without her.”

Brienne frowned slightly and looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Jaime. I’ve never been in love, not really, so I don’t know exactly how you must be feeling. But it seems to me that you’ve done the right thing, the difficult thing. I don’t know about love, but I know about grief. Being alone is hard, especially if you’ve never been alone before.”

She drew her arm around him, and he immediately slumped into her, his head falling to her shoulder. Brienne tentatively stroked his head, and he leaned even closer.

“I imagine it will take time. I know you’re strong enough to get through this. I know you might not believe this, but I think you’re a good man. A kind man. You are worth fighting for.”

“You barely know me,” Jaime murmured, his breath pleasantly warm on her shoulder.

“I know enough. You’re a great artist. You’re kind even though you hide it with a defensive bravado. I know it’s worth knowing you and being friends with you.”

Jaime sighed, leaning even more into her as she continued to stroke his head.

“Come. Let’s take you to bed. You should sleep.” She nudged him up and they went up the stairs, his arm slung over her shoulder. She guided him to the bed and pulled down the covers so he could slide in. Jaime looked up at her with wide eyes. 

“How are you so good and kind?” His voice was full of wonder.

She shook her head and pulled the covers over him. “Sleep,” she said softly, her fingers stroking his cheek and touching his eyelids closed.

“Thank you, Brienne,” Jaime mumbled, his voice suddenly sleepy. 

She stood up and stared at Jaime’s beautiful face that was still slightly frowning, and watched for a few seconds as she saw his face relax. 

When she turned to go she noticed that on the wall, opposite the bed, hung her large painting from the graduation exhibit months ago. Her mouth fell open in shock and she felt a familiar echo, as if she was seeing an old friend again. She had been surprised when she learned the painting had been bought, and she was certainly grateful for the unexpectedly large amount of money the sale had given her, but the knowledge that it was _Jaime_ who actually bought the work flabbergasted her. The knowledge inexplicably made tears suddenly appear in her eyes. Gods, this man had changed her life, and he didn’t want anything from her except for her friendship and a listening ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vibe of the chapter (and the bar) is of course inspired by the Rufus Wainwright song, [Sanssouci](https://youtu.be/CVtm2gacrwg)  
> It captures the feeling 100 percent.


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter on, this story will earn its 'E' rating. Just so you know. 😉

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

When Jaime opened his eyes the next morning, the first thing he saw was Brienne’s painting on his bedroom wall. The wavering lines of white interspersed with wobbly tracings of blue and green paint seemed to radiate a calming energy into the rest of the bedroom. He liked waking up to it; looking at it each day seemed to reset his mind and mood. 

His mouth felt dry and he had a vague headache from drinking the night before. Yet he remembered clearly what had happened, how he had once again poured his thoughts to Brienne, again burdening her with his problems. He also remembered, with a kind of burgeoning awe, that she didn’t seem to mind listening to him. She was unexpectedly gentle - infinitely gentler than Cersei had ever been, not that he had ever been able to confide his troubles with his cousin. Cersei had certainly never tucked him into bed.

He got up and quickly turned on the shower. As the warm water cascaded down his body, he felt himself being cleansed in more than one way, not just in the physical, but in the emotional as well. It felt satisfying. But soon enough his thoughts turned to Brienne, whom he imagined still tucked in sleep in the room next door. He had been stunned by seeing her at the bar last night, and at how sexy she looked with that red lip, that very short black dress and very high heels which displayed the long, lean, muscular expanse of her legs. He imagined himself running his fingers up and down those pale legs - and gods, he was already hard with that thought, and almost automatically he began to slowly stroke himself, imaging those legs of hers splayed open, his lips kissing up her legs. He groaned, cupping his balls with his left hand as his right hand fisted up and down his cock. 

He imagined his head between her legs now, how her thighs would frame his face, the weight of those thighs over his shoulders as he lifted up her hips to his mouth so he could taste her and plunge his tongue into her. His hand was moving quickly now, moving up and down and circling the tip of his leaking cock. He could taste her saltiness, the ocean of her, and she would be wet and squirming and grunting beneath his mouth, and he’d suck her clit while he thrust into her with his fingers, making her moan and shatter. Soon enough, Jaime was gasping and his hand was going faster, rougher, until he came in several powerful squirts against the blue tiles, like blobs of white paint against a blue canvas. He breathed hard and allowed the water to rinse away his come. _Gods_. What was he doing, thinking about Brienne in that way? She was barely out of college for Gods’ sake. 

He finished his shower quickly after finding his release, and dressed in jeans and an old, pink sweatshirt that clung to his chest. He had intended to shave, but his shower took a little too long. It was almost 9am; he hoped Brienne was still sleeping so he could make her breakfast again.

Jaime was all of a sudden glad that he’d taken care of himself during his shower because when he came downstairs he got an eyeful of Brienne once again wearing her short black dress which exposed so much of the legs that he had just fantasized about; her hair was slightly damp and she was fresh faced, looking heart-breakingly young. She was moving to and from the stove, evidently making pancakes, which frankly smelled delicious. 

Brienne gave him a bright smile as her eyes traveled over his body, her cheeks going slightly pink. He’d always known the effect that his good looks made on women, and he was certainly used to it, if not a little annoyed at it sometimes, but observing Brienne’s reaction to him gave him a quiet thrill and made him want to preen like a fucking peacock.

“I thought I’d repay the favour, because you made me breakfast last time.” She smiled at him shyly. “I hope you don’t mind - I kind of took over the kitchen.”

“If only you could make me breakfast every morning,” Jaime said flirtatiously.

She sensibly ignored his flippant remark, but gestured a spatula toward the coffee machine. “I didn’t know how to use your fancy machine. So, if you don’t mind taking care of the coffee?”

Jaime smiled. “It would be my pleasure, Tarth.” They moved around the kitchen, moving together, making room for each other. He demonstrated to her how to use his coffee machine, her face the picture of earnestness. It was unbearably domestic, and made him miss something he’d never had. At Casterly, there were cooks and nannies, but never this dance of cooking or the harmony of just being in the kitchen together. It struck him that no woman had ever cooked in his kitchen before. That knowledge gave him a strange feeling in his chest.

After he put on the coffee, he set the table as Brienne made the few last pancakes and cut up the strawberries he had in his fridge. By the time they sat down to eat, there was a stack of perfectly round, golden-brown pancakes. On the table were maple syrup, macerated strawberries, even whipped cream. He had whipping cream in his fridge? His assistant Peck bought the strangest things in his weekly shopping for Jaime.

“Hmmm. Good coffee,” Brienne said, smelling and tasting the rich dark brew in her mug.

“Well, the pancakes are better,” declared Jaime, forking some into his mouth. They chewed in happy silence.

“Where did you learn how to make such good pancakes, Tarth?” 

“Well, my dad used to make it for us. It was our Sunday ritual. We made pancakes instead of going to church.” Brienne smiled sadly. “I haven’t made these in a long time. Somehow, it’s not the same when you don’t have anyone to share it with.”

“Well, our family never had those traditions, aside from the mandatory Lannister gatherings that we were forced to attend throughout our childhood. After our mother died when I was eight, Tywin left us to his staff and any sense of love or family fell apart.” He paused. “I suppose that was why Cersei and I became even closer. Unfortunately, according to Cersei, there was no room for Tyrion in our little unit of two.” Jaime could have told her how his cousin bullied and tormented his little brother, and how Jaime only bothered to stop the biggest crimes against his brother and let the other snide remarks, the name-calling, and the insults slide past him.

She gave him a long look. “My mom and my brother died, and also my baby sisters, so growing up it was just me and dad. I think I disappointed him for not being as feminine as he thought I should be, but in the end he accepted me, I think.”

For Jaime, there didn’t exist a world where those who knew Brienne would not love her. There was a strange, enlivening force within her that shone out from her face. Oh, he’d no doubt that she’d been the object of scorn or mockery for the way she looked; Jaime cringed when he thought of what Cersei would have said to the young woman’s face if they ever met.

“I have no doubt that your father appreciated you, Tarth. You have this spark and kindness within you that even softens the likes of bitter old me.”

Brienne chuckled and shook her head. “Jaime, somehow you seem to believe you’re more unlikeable than you really are. Really.”

“Oh, I think I’m less of an asshole than I was when I was your age, Tarth. You would have hated me if you met me back then.” He remembered himself as being single-minded about his art on one hand, and on the other hand, obsessed with Cersei. He wanted what he wanted and all others could fuck off.

Brienne smiled, taking a sip of coffee. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I’ve come to know you at the ripe old age of what - thirty-two?”

Jaime winced, rubbing his stubble, wondering about the few silver hairs he had found in his beard the last time he grew it out. “Thirty-six.”

Brienne shrugged. “That’s still young. You are remarkably successful for someone that age, you know.”

“I’m glad I meet with your approval, Tarth,” he said playfully, forking the last pancake onto her plate.

=====

Weeks passed in harmony. Brienne started to write down ideas and began work on a 6x6 feet canvas. In the painting, she wanted to capture the feeling of being her new studio, what it was like being where she was at this very moment. Every day was repeated, in endless, satisfying variation. She’d jog, read, then paint. Around dinner time she mostly ate with Jaime at his studio, who would either bring takeout, or she might bring the food she cooked down to his studio. They would talk, and she would admire him in secret. She had known it was inevitable that she would fall in love with Jaime, because he was so talented and stimulating to her mind and artistic sensibility. Unbelievably, he became even more handsome the more she knew him. Glimpses of his heart that he revealed to her made his hair even more shiny, his skin even more golden, his eyes even more brilliant. At times, when he was near, she felt herself almost vibrating in her attraction for him. Luckily, she was adept at more or less hiding her emotions, though she suspected that he probably knew that she lusted over him.

He watched her sometimes when she worked on her new large-scale painting, how she layered the base colour of deep yellow and gold over and over in thin layers so the canvas acquired much depth, and how she had started to painstakingly paint white lines and dots in Morse code to spell the word “contentment” all over the canvas. It was time-consuming and could be tedious if she were not fully focused.

Jaime would watch her, fascinated at her conscientiousness with her brush, the precision of her lines. Her utter patience at her task.

As for Jaime, he had not started to paint yet. He seemed restless, and sometimes she heard him pacing or throwing things on the floor when he got frustrated. Whenever she came downstairs, he would be sitting in a wooden chair, in front of his immense blank canvas, just staring.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said one evening after supper. He gestured to the still blank canvas. “I usually never run out of ideas in painting.” He walked and stood in front of the canvas. “I think….” He turned to her with wide eyes. “I think I’m _scared_ of painting for the first time in my life. What in Seven Hells,” Jaime fumed at himself, shaking his head in disbelief and frustration.

Brienne came and stood beside Jaime. “I think it’s normal to have fear. Indeed, you’ve been lucky if you’ve never been scared of painting. I get scared every time I start a new work. But you’ve been used to working the same way, having the same inspiration for all these decades. It’s understandable that you’d be nervous about doing something different and new.”

She turned to face him now, her face bright with inspiration. She bit her lip. “I have an idea.”

He looked at her surprise. “You do?”

“Look. You need to stop thinking about painting, and I need to get out of my meticulous lines. Why don’t we paint together, on this canvas? Like how jazz musicians jam, not to produce masterpieces, but to get the creative juices flowing.”

“You and me? Painting together on one canvas?” Jaime looked thoughtfully at her. He looked back at the white canvas before them. He narrowed his eyes.

He shrugged. “Okay. It doesn’t hurt to try and it might be fun.”

So it was that they were armed with their arsenal of brushes and paints and stood at the ready.

“How should we do this? Should we talk about what we’re going to paint?” Jaime looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

She shook her head. “No, I think for this first one, we’ll just follow our instinct and just paint.”

Jaime nodded. “You start, Tarth.”

Brienne took a few seconds to consider the blank space of the canvas. Dipped her paint in cobalt blue and sketched out a curved form. She stepped back. Jaime took over now, dipping his own brush in the same colour and continued the form, and soon enough they both were painting together, with one person’s brush continuing when the other ended. Brienne slashed her brush and arced, while Jaime bent low and swept across the field. They were instinctively conscious of where each other’s bodies were, the marks they were putting onto the canvas, and they found themselves moving together – then away – their paint stroking its way across, below, above, and next to each other. Ultramarine blue danced next to Prussian blue. Viridian green melded with titanium white and yellow ochre. 

Their bodies responded to each other, the strokes inspiring other strokes in rapid succession, as they painted more and more energetically and feverishly until both Jaime and Brienne were panting with the effort. They did not know how much time passed; it seemed like minutes, or maybe hours. Finally, they abruptly stopped and stared at each other as if in a trance. Brienne saw that Jaime’s eyes were alight and alive and the greenest she’s seen them. His lips were parted, his cheeks red. He looked hungry and...aroused. She felt a corresponding hunger and licked her lips, her eyes taking in his leonine grace.

The next thing she knew, they surged toward one another and they were kissing, mouths desperate, and Brienne was trying to keep up as she kissed him back, and he bit her bottom lip gently, making her gasp in pleasure, and his tongue found hers and oh something inside her just melted and she felt her arms tangling in this hair and he pulled her forcefully against him so their bodies were touching. 

“Brienne,” Jaime murmured into her mouth as he continued to lavish kisses on her.

Gods he was muscular and taut and solid, and he was hard against her thigh. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she felt his hands pulling off her t-shirt and she did the same to him, and he gave a little groan when he saw she had nothing on underneath. If he was disappointed by the smallness of her breasts, he did not let on as he started to caress them with his hands and kiss her throat at the same time. His hands on her breasts felt incredible, and his kisses were literally making her lightheaded. A loud moan found a way out of her when he started to kiss and suck at her pebbled nipples. Her legs collapsed and she nearly fell backwards. Chuckling into her chest, Jaime steered them to the couch, where he gently lay her down. Looking at her with eyes darkened with lust, he slowly unbuttoned her jeans and started to pull them down, all the while looking at her for signs of hesitation. She looked back at him, at his strong chest slightly covered with hair, the defined abdominal muscles, the prominent ‘v’ of his hip muscles half covered by his jeans. She felt herself flush with want. No, she may have been a virgin, but there was no hesitation there at all.

He was kissing her again as he sprawled on top of her on the couch, and he settled his hips between her legs, and she felt his hard bulge through his jeans, rubbing her clit through her panties, and little jolts of pleasure ran through her as he moved against her. She felt him hard and straining between her legs and she reached down and undid his jeans and pulled them frantically down, surprising a gasping Jaime. He leaned back and bit his lip as he watched her take off his pants. He was wearing blue boxer briefs which did little to hide his barely straining erection.

Taking a deep breath and allowing herself to be bold, she also pulled down his boxers and threw them to a corner of the room. Brienne had never seen a cock in person before, and Jaime’s was large and pink and jutting straight out in front of him. She was flooded with desire and felt herself getting even wetter. She felt she was in a fantasy or a dream, with this irresistible man stretched out in front of her on the couch. She straddled him and he gave a loud groan as she leaned down to kiss him wantonly and her wet, cotton-covered cunt rubbed back and forth on his cock.

“Fuck, Brienne,” Jaime cried, making her even more excited. She leaned back now, lowering herself so she was straddling his thigh, with his very excited cock standing up in front of her.

She stared at his cock, and at Jaime’s wanting expression, and tentatively grasped him. Jaime hissed and arched a little. He was hot and full in her hand, and very hard, as she experimentally moved her hand up and down his shaft. He bit his lip and moaned.

Brienne blushed. “I’ve never touched one before,” she admitted, continuing to rub him gently. Jaime propped himself on his elbow and stared at her. 

“Oh Brienne, honey. We don’t have to - we can stop.” His voice was small and a little desperate, as she continued to stroke him with a little tighter grip.

“No chance, Jaime. I want you.” He looked at her, the air between them heavy, and he lunged up like a beast and kissed her, moving so that he was on top of her and rubbing his hardness between her legs, making her cry out. 

“Thank gods,” he cried, kneeling on the floor before her and pulling off her soaked panties and flinging them away. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Brienne,” he said, his mouth hovering at the juncture of her thighs.

Gods, he was going to - going to, and she melted as she felt his mouth, languorous and warm on her liquid center. He swiped his tongue up and down her folds and dipped into her wetness as he groaned into her.

“Gods, Jaime,” she gasped, as he started to gently lick her clit, and she felt herself trembling in pleasure. 

“You’re fucking delicious, Brienne,” he murmured as his lips latched on to her nub and he started to suck and stroke with his tongue. She moaned as a finger entered her, and she involuntarily rolled up her hips for him, and he pushed a second finger in, and Brienne was lost in sensation, unable to keep track of what miraculous thing he was doing to her and she felt his fingers move, curling, and she felt that warm pressure build and rise, and she heard herself cry out, feeling like she was going to explode, and she felt her hips bucking, and she did explode as white hot pleasure washed over her in waves as she felt her cunt shudder beneath Jaime’s mouth.

She felt limp from rapture as he moved up her body, wiping his drenched face with the back of his hand and grinning like a most satisfied cat. He chuckled into her ear. “That was fun,” Jaime said, his eyes dark and seductive. She felt his cock, hot and hard, on her hip, the tip of it dark pink and leaking. She gripped him, and he groaned loudly.

“I’m not going to last long, I’m close,” he breathlessly warned her, and sure enough, after a few rough strokes, his cock swelled and pulsed in her hand and he swore and cried her name and kissed her as he came, painting white streaks on her belly and the blond hairs of her sex.

They lay entangled and on top of each other as they caught their breaths. Jaime slowly got up with a small sigh and walked to the bathroom, walking back a few moments later with a couple of warm wet washcloths. She sat up, still a little dazed, while he knelt in front of her and cleaned up his seed from her body. He wiped himself after. He leaned into her now, and gave her a soft kiss.

“Brienne.” Jaime looked at her with sincere affection that made her blush. “I don’t know how that happened, but I’m very glad it did.”

She forced himself to look into his eyes, even though she was sure her whole body was pink from embarrassment. 

“I’m glad it happened too - I know - I know that I’m not as pretty as other-”

His kiss interrupted her. “No, none of that, Brienne. I for one, think you are attractive and sexy as all seven hells.” He pulled her body closer. “I’m glad that happened, Brienne, and I like you. And if you’ll let me, I want to do that again and again.”

Brienne felt her heart soar. She grinned. “I like you too, Jaime. And nothing will stop me from doing that again with you.”

Jaime chuckled as he passed her clothes to her. After they dressed, they finally remembered the reason they ended up on the couch, and turned to see the results of the painting experiment. Brienne heard Jaime whistle and she herself gasped. The painting, with its abstract and loose brushstrokes saturated with paint, was beautiful. It evoked a garden of sorts, of blue leaves amid green and half-hidden flowers. She thought that a sensuality and pulsing desire came through the canvas. The painting that resulted from their collaboration was nothing like either of their personal styles, but something else entirely. Something wild and alive.

“Well,” Jaime said half-disbelieving and half in awe, “I think we have something here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tall_wolf_of_tarth asked if there was an inspiration for what Jaime and Brienne's collaborative painting looks like...I actually thought hard about this and couldn't find something exactly as I envisioned. The closest is the jungle paintings of French artist Henri Rousseau. Imagine his paintings, but more wild, more colourful, more passionate brushstrokes. But his paintings capture the mystery and feeling of the pieces.
> 
> Here he is: <https://www.wikiart.org/en/henri-rousseau>  
> In particular, this painting: <https://www.wikiart.org/en/henri-rousseau/the-dream-1910>  
> 


	7. SEVEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

He slept in Brienne’s bed. He remembered them climbing up the stairs and stumbling onto the mattress, not having even the energy to undress, exhausted by painting and giving in to each other for the first time. In bed, she had wrapped her arms around him, her long body curved around his back, and surprisingly, he immediately fell asleep.

In the morning light, her face peaceful and unguarded, she looked young and innocent and Jaime felt his heart squeeze. He remembered kissing Brienne and how sweet she tasted; he remembered her enthusiastic reaction to his touches, how she fell apart under his mouth and how he, in turn, fell so quickly apart under her own unpracticed hands. 

He’d never thought that he’d act on his attraction to Brienne that had been brewing for many weeks; after Cersei, he hadn’t particularly wanted to be in a relationship. Yet he could not deny the visceral reaction he had to the young artist; he admired her, he wanted to know her, and gods help him, he wanted desperately to fuck her. But he knew he had to be careful with her - her heart was fragile under all that strength, and she’d been scarred by men who mocked her and couldn’t appreciate her uniqueness. He too, was in no fine shape; he could barely fathom the wounds and scars of years of Cersei’s push and pull and what it had done to him. He doubted if he was even capable of a healthy, normal relationship.

Yet, there she was, lying in his arms, making an occasional adorable huffing noise in her sleep. He tried to extricate himself from her embrace, but she stretched beside him and drowsily opened her eyes. The blueness of them always shocked him. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she immediately blushed. He kissed her, before any doubts could creep in. 

“Good morning,” Brienne murmured, smiling shyly.

“Good morning, Brienne.” He stroked her face. In the morning light, her skin looked luminous.

“Brienne - I have to leave - I have a morning appointment with my gallerist and a Lannister family thing later in the evening. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded, sitting up as he stood up from the bed. “Jon’s coming over later, so it works out.”

Jaime paused his movement. “Jon’s still with his girlfriend right, what was her name - Ygritte?”

“Uh-huh.” Brienne got up and took off her pants and pulled on her running shorts. The sight of her bare legs made his cock stir. “Why?”

Jaime tore his eyes away from her toned legs and looked over at her. “Oh nothing. I just remembered, that’s all.”

She smiled. “All right then. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

Jaime made his way downstairs, very much regretting this packed schedule for the day. As he returned to his studio to wash up, he imagined how nice it would be to be with Brienne. She was a breath of fresh air in his stagnant and rotten life. Gods, the Lannister dinner tonight - he did not want to go, but his father insisted; Cersei would be there, of course, since she craved his father’s respect. He dreaded seeing her most of all. He was scared of her reaction, and a part of him was scared of his own.

=====

“You should let me paint you,” Jon said, looking at her with that annoying way of his, as if he were already seeing the painted version of her. “I think it would be magnificent.”

“Gods, Jon,” she said, handing him a beer. “You’ve asked me a million times.”

“And you’ve always put it off, Ms.Tarth.” Jon stretched his legs out in front of him on the couch.

“Well. True. I will one day, I promise.” She took a swig of beer, enjoying the icy coolness of it down her throat.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “You know, there is something different about you today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I kind of smugness that isn’t usual for you...and you’re pinker, you have more colour in your eyes. You’re excited.”

Brienne went red, and walked to the kitchen, turning her back to him. 

“Brienne.” Jon called out to her. “Brienne, why won’t you look at me? Unless...oh gods, you’ve done it, haven’t you?”

She turned swiftly around and glared at him. She placed a bowl of chips down on the coffee table with a little too much force.

“Did you actually...do it? Have you had sex?” Jon's eyes were wide and shocked. “Gods, was it with _Jaime_ Lannister?”

She scowled. “That is entirely none of your business, Jon Snow.”

“Why? I tell you about me and Ygritte all the time.”

“I know. I never ask you to tell me about you...and her.” She made an unpleasant face.

Jon turned to her, his face concerned. “Did he treat you well, Brienne? Do you want me to punch him? Gods, I knew you shouldn’t have moved into his studio.”

Brienne relented and softened, seeing that Jon was actually _worried_ about her. “No, no, nothing like that. He was….” Brienne tried to find the right words to describe the night before. “He was nice. Kind. And we didn’t have uh...penetrative sex, we just you know….”

“Fooled around? Had _non-penetrative_ sex?” His eyebrows were raised in curiosity.

“Yes, I mean. He pulled back, you know, when he learned I had very little experience. He was a bit worried about hurting me, I guess?” Brienne bit her lip. Talking about what exactly happened made it seem so weird.

“Oh,” Jon said, visibly relieved. “That’s pretty gentlemanly of him. I mean, not barrelling ahead and actually thinking about how you felt.”

Brienne nodded, smiling. “And what we did. Well, it was good. Very good.”

Jon grinned. “That’s my girl. Are you two dating, then?”

“I don’t know. This just happened, and I’ll see him tomorrow, and I guess we’ll see. I mean, I’m trying not to expect anything. He just got out of a relationship and I’m not exactly the type that a handsome man like Jaime would ever date.”

Jon raised an eyebrow and looked at her with skepticism. “I don’t know - with the way he’s helped you and paid such attention to you, I think he likes you. A lot. First of all, he respects your talent, and has hung two of your paintings in his apartment. And he obviously finds you attractive. Even I could decipher that when he joined us at the bar that time.”

Brienne could not suppress a pleased smile. “You think so? I like him. A lot.” She threw him a secretive glance. “We painted together.”

Jon looked surprised. “What? You _waited_ to tell me this now? This is even more shocking news than you almost having had sex with Jaime Lannister. Fuck. How was it?”

She gave him an intense look. “It was like what I imagined the best sex could be. Just, mind-blowing. And we painted together so naturally - it was pretty unbelievable, actually.”

“Fuck. Fuck. You are literally giving me a hard-on right now,” Jon joked.

She shoved him. “Gods, Jon. Must you be so vulgar?” Jon winced.

“Ow! You’re always underestimating your own strength, Brienne. Where is it? Can I see it?” He looked around, as if he would find the painting magically hiding somewhere in the cramped spaces of her apartment.

“It’s in his studio downstairs.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to imagine what it looks like in the meantime.”

“Gods, Brienne.” He took a long gulp of beer. 

She looked at him now. “So, how are things going with you and Ygritte?”

He winced. “Fine. I mean we fight a lot, but it’s not serious, you know? But we are really different, and she has very definite opinions that I don’t agree with...but the make up sex is always good. I like that a lot.”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “You are vulgarity itself, Jon.” 

He grinned. “Hey, I’m just being truthful. Living together is hard. I’m almost glad about the times when she’s out of town reporting. But you know, I can’t imagine her not being in my life.”

She smiled at Jon. “That’s actually very sweet. Well, Ygritte is lucky to have you, Jon. You are a great catch.”

“Just as Jaime Lannister is lucky to have you, if he manages not to screw it up, that is.”

=====

Walking into Tywin Lannister’s gated mansion was like going back in time a hundred or more years. The house was an old, wooden Gothic thing - oh, shiny and recently updated with the latest in technology of course, but the inside of the house was dark and all polished wood. There were carved mirrors and paintings - the older the better; none of Jaime’s art was in this house, as his work would hardly fit amongst the antiques and ornate velvets.

Having dinner at his father’s was a ceremony of sorts - they were all expected to dress in evening wear. Aperitif, dinner, then port - all torture. Dinner itself was at least five courses and lasted hours. Between bites, strained conversation. 

His father was the head of an immense global fortune and made his name in investment banking. Lannister Investments had its hand in many fields, from mining, to pharmaceuticals, to museums. Tywin had wanted Jaime to take over, of course, and was roundly disappointed when Jaime instead became an artist. Despite his own successes, Jaime still felt he was a disappointment in his father’s eyes. Tyrion and Cersei were in the family business, with Tyrion overseeing the cultural and philanthropic branches, while Cersei dabbled as Vice President in the pharmaceutical branch.

Cersei was boasting about the new drugs the company was working on, and about her new hire of the new scientist called Qyburn, who promised to make miracle drugs that cured cancer.

“If only the authorities would let us bypass the clinical trials,” Cersei said, pouting in disappointment. “Uncle, could you put pressure on the government about this? The drug is too promising and potentially lucrative to wait for years to get approval. I’ve talked to Robert about it. That man utterly refused to look into it for me, despite being in government himself.”

Tywin turned his cold eyes to his niece. “You don’t want to poison people, do you, Cersei? That path of short-cutting could lead to lawsuits down the road. Not to mention potential deaths. Drugs are not something to cut corners about, Cersei.”

She was cowed, but Jaime could see her eyes burn under her lowered lashes. “Of course, uncle. We’ll stay the course, then.”

“Jaime.” Tywin turned to his eldest son. Jaime winced. “What’s this I hear about a young woman living at your studio?”

Tyrion laughed. Jaime shot him a glare.

“I just happen to be renting out the second floor of the studio to a very talented up-and-coming artist, that’s all.”

“You hardly need rental income.” His father’s eyes were penetrating and cold.

Jaime shrugged. “No, but she needed space and time to work, and as the second floor was unused and full of junk, I figured it should be made for good use.”

“Jaime’s had his head turned by a twenty-two year old tart, fresh out of art school.” Cersei said in a superior tone.

“Twenty-two? Even _I_ think that might be a bit too young for you, Jaime. Still, if she is a good prospect, it is time that you settled down, son. Get married, have a family. Is she from a good family?” His father leaned forward with interest.

“I’m sure she’s a nobody. I’m sure Jaime just half-pities her. You know how he is with unfortunate creatures,” she said slyly, looking at Tyrion all the while. “Plus, I hear she’s hideous. Ugly. Jaime would never-”

“That’s quite presumptuous of you, dear sweet cousin,” Tyrion interrupted. “I happened to have met the young woman and her friends. They are definitely a good sort. In truth, much too good for the likes of us.”

He paused, thinking. “And as for her looks. They are rather astonishing. Sure, perhaps she’s not _conventionally_ beautiful like you are, dear cousin, but many a man would fall in love with those long legs of hers, her physical strength, not to mention the most beguiling blue eyes I have ever seen.” Tyrion winked at Jaime.

Jaime inwardly groaned. He knew it was a mistake to tell his brother about last night on their ride to dinner. He knew he’d never hear the end of it. Plus, now that his brother was _very_ _casually_ dating Brienne’s friend Asha, he was all of a sudden very knowledgeable about his tenant. 

Tywin looked at Jaime with interest. He could almost see the gears in his father’s head turning, imagining a wedding and heirs at last. He looked most of all pleased at the frost that had appeared between him and Cersei.

Later that evening, Cersei cornered him when he came out of the washroom.

“Brother,” Cersei crooned, grabbing his hand and leading him out into a balcony. She looked around. “Remember when we fucked out here, with Robert passed out in the drawing room? That was sweet. I still think about how hard you made me come that night, just from your cock.”

She pressed her breasts into him, and he felt her quivering, slim form. She reached up and stroked his face, smiling up at him sweetly. He wasn’t yet immune to her beauty or the fragrant, pliant flesh that was pressed tight against him. He felt himself start to respond.

“Kiss me, Jaime. I miss you so much.” He could feel her nails dig into the back of his neck as she pulled his head down. With a sigh, he gently pulled away before her lips could touch him.

“Jaime,” Cersei protested, annoyed. She gripped his wrist hard enough to almost hurt.

“Cersei, I can’t be with you anymore, I’ve told you. We - we’re not good together. I want to be a different person. A better person.” He shook her hand away.

Her face twisted in scorn. “You’re nobody, Jaime, without me. Ever since we were children, you needed me to hold your hand and lead you around. You always needed someone to tell you what to do.” She flicked back her golden curls. “You’ll see. You’ll come crawling back when this experiment of yours is over. Who knows, I might even forgive you in a few months when everything crumbles all around you.” She strode away, her heels clicking against the stone floor. He felt his gut clench and he tasted acid in his mouth. He wondered if it would always be like this whenever he came to Lannister dinners now. He knew Cersei would always be bitter and angry. Served him right for having a decades-long affair with his almost sister. _Gods._


	8. EIGHT

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Brienne was so absorbed in the world of dots and dashes that the stubborn, insistent knock barely registered. Finally, she absentmindedly got up and opened her door. There stood, carrying a heavy plastic bag, Jaime Lannister, smiling fondly at her.

“Lost in work, Tarth?” He grinned, fully knowing how it felt to be deep into a painting.

She shook her head to clear it. She looked at him, _really_ looked at him. Gods, he was unbelievably handsome. His long blond hair shone and pieces of it framed his face perfectly, his eyes reflecting the bright light of the sunshine outside. Brienne still trembled when she realized how flawless he was, all masculine angles and symmetry.

“Jaime. You’re here.” She stepped aside to let him in, and hurriedly cleared the surface of her work table.

“We had a date, remember?” He held up the plastic bag. “I brought dinner. You like Pentoshi?”

Brienne nodded, and gestured for him to go through to her apartment. “Pentoshi take out is great,” she said, pulling out plates and utensils and setting the table. All her dishes were mismatched, from picking up random dishes from various thrift shops.

Jaime set the food down on the table and his eyes followed the movement of her hands setting the table. He walked toward her, stopping only when he was inches from her face. She hitched her breath, and could feel her cheeks going pink. The heat of his body near hers almost made her lightheaded. Jaime sighed, and his fingers grazed up her arms, making her shiver. Slowly, he cupped her face and the tender expression in them made her melt.

“Brienne,” he said, and kissed her softly. His lips were warm and a tingling current ran through her whole body. She opened her mouth, allowing their tongues to touch. She felt like she was both drowning and falling at the same time, in the most pleasant way imaginable. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling his body close, causing a moan to emerge from the back of his throat. Feverishly, he was kissing her neck, sucking her pulse points, and she heard herself make absurd whimpering noises that seemed to spur him on. Her hands ran over his every plane and hardness. He felt so good, purring like a powerful engine under her hands.

“Jaime,” Brienne cried, “You’re wearing too many clothes.” She clawed at his shirt, clumsily trying to undo the buttons, but Jaime tore it open with a growl and threw his shirt down on the floor. He made quick work of his pants and underwear, and there he was standing naked and glowing in front of her, his cock already hard. 

“Your turn,” he said, greedily pulling off her long shift and pulling down her underwear. It was all too much. She dragged him to the bed and she climbed in after him, both of them kneeling. They pressed gingerly against each other, slowly feeling each other’s nakedness, skins touching, the curves and hard planes grazing and touching. It was soft, exquisite torture.

“I want you,” Brienne said, looking into Jaime’s wide green eyes. His expression was awestruck as he stared back at her. It made her want him even more. She kissed along his neck and down to his chest, her tongue swirling around his nipple. Jaime groaned as he ran his fingers through her hair. Her hands touched him everywhere, the strong planes of his shoulders, his muscular back, his firm backside. He pulled her to him, rubbing his hardness against her hip. 

“Are you sure?” Jaime said in her ear, his voice tight and strangled. “We can wait until you’re ready.” His hands caressed her breasts, pinched her nipples, making her cry out. She kissed him.

“I want you to fuck me, right now, Jaime.” Brienne whispered, drawing both of them to lie beside each other on the bed. 

“Gods, Brienne.” Jaime looked at her with desperation. “You have no idea how much I want this.” He bit his lip and paused his touches, looking at her seriously. “I was tested a few weeks ago, I’m clean. But I need to go downstairs to get a condom-”

Brienne reached down and wrapped her hand around his full, heavy cock. Jaime threw his head back and groaned. “I have an IUD - for my period. We don’t need a condom.”

He had not expected her to be so bold, but he thought of her with a paint brush in her hand and the confidence with which she approached the canvas. All he wanted was to plunge his cock into her and bury himself inside her warmth. But he tried to prepare her the best he could, even though his cock was throbbing and aching to be inside her. His fingers prepared her and his thumb was on her clit, circling, until she cried out and she pulled him close with - _gods_ \- her legs around his waist, and he couldn’t wait anymore and he entered her with an urgency that he couldn’t entirely hold back. He paused, noticing her breathing carefully, and he watched her face as he more slowly eased himself in fully. She was wet and warm and incredibly tight around him. He felt like he was going to die and ascend to heaven.

“Is it okay?” Jaime gasped, kissing her. 

She nodded, kissing him back fervently and canting her hips up, so he blissfully slipped even deeper inside. He groaned. Slowly, he started moving in and out of her, feeling her warmth caress him, and soon enough, her hips were moving up to collide with his, sending shocks of pleasure down his spine. He felt untethered, like a cut electric wire, like he was quickly losing control, and he thrust harder and faster into her, and he quickly put his hand between them to her clit, because it didn’t seem that he was going to last all that much longer. Gods, she grew even wetter and started to writhe under him and moan in a desperate way that went straight to his cock. Soon he was snapping his hips even harder and gods she widened her eyes in shock and arched her back and suddenly cried out her pleasure. Her cunt rippled around his cock in powerful spasms, and it was all he could take; he felt a torrent of pleasure crash over him, and he poured himself into her in thick, hot streams as he shouted her name. He fell into her, panting, his limbs heavy, his body twitching with aftershocks. 

When he finally caught his breath and was able to move his muscles, he rolled off with an exhausted gasp. Brienne smiled at him, wide-eyed and affectionate. He kissed her and drew her close.

“Gods, Brienne, that was... _fuck_...so good,” he murmured into her neck. He looked at her, concerned. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and smiled. “It was a little uncomfortable at first, but then it was...uh...incredible.” Her face turned pink with timidity.

Jaime kissed her cheeks and neck and mouth. “I’m glad. I’ve never felt so-” He could hardly describe how overwhelming being inside her was; words could not do it justice. He drew her close and pressed his body against hers. He sighed and closed his eyes.

When they woke up, they finally ate the Pentoshi take-out, now cold, in just t-shirts and underwear. 

Brienne looked beautiful, her short hair all tousled and her cheeks still flushed from fucking. Jaime felt a sense of pride to know that he was the one who caused those pink swollen lips, those kiss marks on her neck. 

“You’re staring,” Brienne said, raising her eyebrows. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jaime said with utter sincerity.

Brienne gave him a long look. “You’re the gorgeous one between the two of us.”

Jaime laughed. “Well, I’m certainly happy you like my looks, Brienne. But truly, I could look at you all day. You’re an artist's dream.”

She rolled her eyes at him. She then tilted her head and gave him a curious look. 

“Jaime,” she said slowly, “What do you think about painting together again?”

He grinned. “Why, Tarth, I was just about to ask you about the same thing. I think what we created the other night was unexpected and rather beautiful. It completely surprised me.”

Brienne nodded. “It surprised me too. The style that emerged was one that is unlike either of ours. I’m convinced I wouldn’t have been able to create it on my own.”

Jaime nodded. “I think we should paint together, and see what happens. It could be that the one painting could be a fluke. But if we’re able to create something, it would be something worth exploring.”

She nodded eagerly. 

Jaime smirked. “And we wouldn’t even have to have sex immediately after if we didn’t want to.”

Brienne sighed and threw a wadded up paper napkin at him.

They painted together that night, and it was just as electrifying as the first time. When they were done, Jaime dropped his paintbrushes and fell on his knees, pulling Brienne’s shorts and underwear off and sucking at her cunt and thrusting into her with his fingers until she fell apart, crumpling onto the floor. He was hard and ready and entered her with a shout. They grunted like animals as she met his every hard thrust, and they cried into each other’s mouths as they came nearly at the same time. 

Jaime had never felt it before: the union of sexual and creative energy. Fucking had always been about physical pleasure and satisfying Cersei, but Jaime had never felt so devoured and utterly consumed before. Being with Brienne was overwhelming and a little scary, yet he yearned to be near her at all times. 

“So, this seems to work,” Brienne gestured to the painting, as they lay panting on the floor after fucking. 

She was right: blooms seemed to emerge from the dark foliage of night in the painting, drawing the viewer into its depths. Whatever it was, they had _something_. Together, they seemed to be able to effortlessly create these evocative, emotional paintings. Brienne was right in saying that what emerged was completely unlike their own painting styles and signatures. It seemed to Jaime rather miraculous.

“It’s as if we were meant to paint together, Tarth.” Jaime said, pulling her up to her feet. 

Brienne looked at him, her glance impossibly still shy. “Jaime, do you want to spend the night? It’s late-”

Jaime felt his heart swell. “Yes, I’d love to stay, Brienne.” He pulled her close and kissed her. “But I propose a bath first. I think there’s a tub that might be big enough for the both of us in your apartment.”

When they were finally in bed, Jaime tucked himself against Brienne's large, warm body, his head on her shoulders and a leg sprawled across hers. Rarely was he able to sleep so peacefully with a woman. Cersei hated being cuddled, even after sex, and to have Brienne to hold on to and cling to was a blessing and a comfort.

She looked at him with clear, guileless eyes. “Good night, Jaime Lannister,” she whispered, kissing his cheek tenderly.”

“Good night, Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime replied, tightening his hold on her.

=====

In the next few weeks, Brienne lived like she was in a dream. It seemed unreal that the first thing she saw when she woke up was the green, smiling eyes of the most handsome man in Westeros, that his arms would be the last thing she felt around her before she drifted off to sleep at night. The time in between was a haze of painting and fucking, often one following the other. She had never known such pleasure in her body; it amazed her how in tune with her body Jaime was, how easily he was able to press his tongue or press her cunt in a specific place with his cock that made her burst in ecstasy. He had nearly spent every night with her, and on the few days that he had to stay at his place downtown, he always returned ravenous for her. Minutes after he came back he would take her against the wall or lean her over his work table, pull down her clothes, and desperately thrust into her.

She was indescribably happy. Brienne had never felt more alive and in tune with the brush and canvas. Life seemed to spark from her fingers and brush, and the paintings they made together were some of the most vibrant things she’d ever painted. She knew he felt the same way, because every time they finished a painting, they would end up staring first at the painting, then at each other with disbelief and awe, and suddenly they would crash into one other, invariably fucking on the floor, on the couch, on the table.

By the end of four weeks of near constant bliss and creativity, they had created fourteen large paintings, all of growing things: trees, flowers, vines, tiny animals that seemed to emerge from the corners of the canvas. Each one of them was magnificent. Neither of them had ever produced so quickly and effortlessly before.

Jaime was the one who suggested they talk to the Tyrells for a future show at Roseheart Gallery, which had shown Jaime’s latest paintings. 

Brienne was reluctant to leave their happy cocoon, but readily agreed that the paintings were good enough to be shown to the public. Jaime smiled at the news and proposed that they stay a couple nights at Jaime’s apartment downtown. 

“I’ve never even taken you out on a date, Brienne,” Jaime complained. 

“Gods, I’ve been an extremely cheap date, haven’t I?” Brienne joked.

Jaime grinned, pulling her close. “I hope I’ve made up for it in other ways,” he said suggestively leaning in for a kiss. Brienne felt herself start to swoon at his kiss, but pulled away just in time. 

“Jaime, we need to go - else we’ll be late for the Tyrells.” Jaime released her with a pout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like your J/B fics angst-free and without the involvement of other suitors, I would recommend you stop reading after the next chapter, NINE. 😍
> 
> As I mentioned in an earlier note, the collaborative paintings evoke a Henri Rousseau jungle, but imagine wilder, more passionate paint strokes: <https://www.wikiart.org/en/henri-rousseau>  
> 


	9. NINE

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Margaery Tyrell greeted them at the door, leading them through a series of hallways in the back to a lush sitting room with low leather sofas, green velvet armchairs, and sleek glass tables. The room was filled with bouquets of pink roses and begonias. At the large working table sat an old, wizened woman, elegantly dressed in a sharp pink suit, her white hair cut into a severe bob, wearing oversized blue eyeglasses. 

“Forgive me if I don’t get up, dears. My knees, you see,” said the woman, throwing them a pleasant smile. 

“Of course,” Jaime murmured, bending to the old woman and kissing her cheek. “Olenna, looking sophisticated, as always.”

“Jaime Lannister. How do you get even more handsome every time I see you? I believe you’re more good-looking now than you were ten years ago.”

Jaime chuckled. Margaery beamed.

“Grandmama, this is Brienne Tarth, the new artist that Jaime has been working with,” Margaery said, looking Brienne up and down in a not unfriendly way, a small smile at her lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Olenna.” Brienne said, offering the seated woman a handshake. Olenna grabbed her hand and pulled it closer, holding it with both hands for many long seconds as her shrewd eyes examined Brienne.

“My. You’re young. And tall. How old are you, child?”

“Twenty-two,” Brienne said, trying not to stammer in front of such a strong gaze.

“Very young. But strong. Those eyes of yours, child. Hmmm. There is something...magnificent about you, isn’t there?” She gave Jaime a sly look. “No wonder you captivated the most eligible bachelor in King’s Landing.”

“Grandmama! For shame.” The young girl gave Brienne an apologetic look.

Olenna shrugged and gave an apologetic smile. “Now do sit. Forgive me in assuming. Sometimes imagination gets the better of this old, addled brain.” She then held up a small bell in front of her and rang it. Immediately, two male staff members came in with a pot of tea, cups and an assortment of finger sandwiches, biscuits and pastries. 

Margaery poured the tea, while Brienne dutifully took a sandwich on her plate to be polite, even though she couldn’t bear to eat because she was much too nervous. Jaime had no qualms as he eagerly bit into the neatly assembled triangles. Looking at the well-tailored suits of the two women and even Jaime, Brienne felt severely underdressed in a black silk blouse and black jeans. 

“Now, Margaery tells me that you two have been collaborating on a few paintings?”

Jaime nodded. “After my last show, I felt myself at an impasse in terms of style and subject matter. Brienne here is renting the upstairs studio, and naturally we started to spend time together-”

“Naturally,” Olenna interjected with a smug smile.

Jaime cleared his throat. “Naturally. Well, we decided to...I guess, for the lack of a better term, play around on a single canvas, and to our surprise, we made a rather incredible painting.”

Margaery leaned forward, fascinated. “You painted on the same canvas? How did that work? Did one person go, while the other person waited, and vice versa?”

Brienne shook her head. “We didn’t know what we were doing or how it would go, obviously, but we just started painting on the same canvas, and it seemed like we moved with each other quite naturally.”

“Hmm. Did you bring images?” Olenna asked.

Brienne nodded, taking out a USB stick. Olenna rang the bell, and the gentlemen returned, setting up a screen, rolling in a projector and a computer. Margaery took over then, opening the USB file, revealing two folders.

“It’s the folder called ‘JB Gardens’ - the images should be there, in high resolution. It’s not the same as looking at the painting but it gives you a sense of the work,” Brienne said.

There, on the screen, coming on one by one, were the series of fourteen garden paintings. Even through projection, Brienne felt its pull. The work was good. Amazingly good. Brienne smiled at Jaime, who was smiling back at her.

When the last of the paintings was shown, there was silence. Olenna regarded both Jaime and Brienne with an intensely curious expression. Margaery looked like the cat that got the cream.

“When would you like the show to be?” Olenna simply asked.

Brienne started, and gave Jaime a surprised glance.

“Simple as that? No negotiation, Olenna?” Jaime asked, leaning forward.

Olenna gave him a withering look. “You know, as well as me, Jaime Lannister, that these paintings are some of the best works I’ve seen. And I’ve been around since they invented the avant-garde movement in the 1960s. That means I’ve seen it all. These works are something else. They are pure and astonishing.”

Margaery nodded eagerly. “They’re transportative. Dream-like. Passionate.”

“The only thing to negotiate is commission.” Olenna said.

Jaime shook his head. “No commission, because these pieces are not for sale.” He looked apologetically to Brienne. “I’m sorry - we should have talked about this, but I don’t want them sold.”

Brienne nodded resolutely. “I agree.” Jaime gave her a relieved look.

Olenna watched them with a shrewd eye. “You don’t want these to be sold. But you want them in my gallery. What, just to be seen? What’s in it for us?”

Margaery smiled, revealing her dimples. “Grandmother, there are possibilities here. This work has potential to tour in major cities. In major museums, starting with the King’s Landing Museum of Modern Art.” The young woman turned to them. “If you don’t mind not having them for a couple of years, the paintings can be seen on a larger scale, to more crowds. We can all make money on the touring fees - say, if we take a portion? Forty percent?”

“Thirty.” Jaime said. 

Olenna sighed. “Fine. Thirty. Margaery, why do you always try to haggle with Jaime? You know it never works.”

“Wait,” Jaime interrupted, and turned to her. “Brienne, are you okay with this arrangement? With the paintings touring Westeros for a couple of years? Is 30 percent okay with you? Should we go talk in another room?”

Brienne shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, Jaime. I want our paintings to be seen by as many people as possible, and them going on tour sounds like a good path.” 

Olenna clapped her hands. “Good, that’s settled.” She rang her bell, and in came the men with champagne and glasses. They toasted and drank.

The old woman turned to Brienne suddenly. “Brienne Tarth. I am very familiar with Jaime’s solo work. But not yours. You are still very young.” She placed her hands flat on the table. “Tell me, are any of your paintings on that electronic stick that you brought with you?”

Brienne blushed and nodded. Margaery, smiling, opened up the folder. There they were, a couple dozen of Brienne’s best paintings. All abstract, minimal. Some had spare but deep colour and lines, some subtle grids, some the colour enveloping the entire painting. There were dots in organized rows, so subtle that you’d have to be inches away to see them.

Olenna turned to Jaime with a surprised expression. “Where did you find this girl?” The woman shook her head in apparent disbelief. “This work surprises me. Your paintings, Brienne, I find astonishing in a very different way. The paintings are spare and simple, yet complex and emotional. Instead of passion, I find peace in them.”

Margaery looked at both of them with an odd expression. “It’s so strange. Your individual styles are so different. And yet when you paint together, a whole new world seems to have been created.”

“That is a very apt way of putting it, Margaery.” The woman smiled and looked at Brienne with keen interest. “Tell me, Brienne. Do you have an agent yet?”

Brienne stared and stammered, “Ah...no. I never thought of getting one.”

Olenna smiled, all at once looking grandmotherly and forceful. “Then I will be your agent.”

“Grandmother, you haven’t taken on a new client in decades!” 

“By choice, Margaery. The last artist to impress me this much was Jaime Lannister and you most conveniently took over his business from me a few years ago.” Olenna reached into her pocketbook and handed Brienne a card.

“You should have different representation from your...partner here, whatever the status of your relationship. I am a legend in the business. The best. Jaime can tell you. Come with me, and you’ll be famous and rich. Call me.”

With that, Olenna stood up smoothly, bearing no sign of bad knees or any such joint trouble. Brienne saw at once that the woman, while obviously in her seventies, was very trim and fit and strong. She pulled Brienne down and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re brilliant, child. You’re already a star.” She patted Brienne’s hands.

Olenna then turned to Jaime. “You handsome rascal. Look who you finally brought home to Mama Olenna. She’s astonishing. Keep her, if you can.”

Margaery chatted brightly as they were escorted out of the gallery. After a couple of cheek kisses, they were free. Brienne slumped against Jaime in relief but beamed brightly at him.

“That wasn’t too bad, right, Tarth? You got Olenna to represent you. That is something.” Jaime grinned. 

Brienne threw her arms around Jaime and squealed. “Our paintings - they’re going to be seen all over Westeros. Jaime!”

Jaime, catching her enthusiasm, laughed back and twirled her around, even though she was even taller than him. He kissed her, even though they were out on the street. 

“Come on. Let’s take you home, so I can ravish you from head to toe.” Jaime kissed her neck, making her sigh.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Brienne murmured, giving him a playful bite on his ear.

=====

The Bar San Souci was made for dreams, Brienne thought, looking at its crystal chandeliers which scattered little rainbows across the ceiling. The booths were of soft, brown leather, its tables polished mahogany. In the evenings, a piano player played old standards from the 1930s, while the bartender, dressed in formal wear, elegantly shook chrome cocktail shakers and poured out their concoctions in delicate coupes and tall thin glasses. 

Brienne played the part in an electric blue jumpsuit, bought at Asha’s urging after they had graduated. On a whim, Brienne borrowed some of Jaime’s hair products to style her hair into a rockabilly pompadour. Add a bold cat’s eyeliner and red lips, and she was ready for the opulence of San Souci. Of course she had to wriggle out of Jaime’s grasp as soon as he saw her, as he was intent on figuring out how the jumpsuit fastened and unfastened, even though they’d had sex shortly after they arrived at Jaime’s apartment just mere hours ago.

“I knew from the very moment that Jaime spotted you sitting with Jon and Asha in this very room,” Tyrion said mischievously. Jaime threw him an annoyed look.

“Brienne, it was immensely difficult carrying on a serious conversation with my brother that night, because his eyes kept flicking back to you, as if he was making sure you were still there.”

“Tyrion,” Jaime warned, looking irritated at his little brother.

“Well,” Tyrion said, eyeing his brother with amusement, “When he sent those cocktails to your table, I knew he was _very_ interested. I’d never seen him do such a classic seduction move before. In fact, I’ve never seen Jaime even remotely interested in trying to get any woman’s attention, besides….”

Tyrion drifted off awkwardly, and at once looked uncomfortable.

“Besides Cersei,” Brienne finished up for him. 

“You told her?” Tyrion asked Jaime, his face surprised. 

The man in question nodded and smiled wistfully. “I seem not to be able to keep any secrets from Brienne.” He threw his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, that certainly is something,” Tyrion said almost gleefully, looking back and forth at the two of them. 

“And how are you and Asha?” Brienne asked, curious. Her friend had not said much except that Tyrion was a satisfying lay, a fact that she really did not need to know.

“Oh, I certainly don’t pour out my secrets to her, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tyrion joked. “We are keeping it casual. I very seldom meet women with the same relationship philosophy as myself. It’s a rare change.”

“Your relationship philosophy? You mean the ‘sleep with anything that moves’ philosophy?” Jaime grinned.

“On the contrary, brother. That is specifically Asha’s philosophy. Mine is a tad more specific: sleep with any _woman_ that moves.” He gave the two of them a wink.

“Speaking of which, here comes a woman moving right in front of us.” Tyrion watched the slim, dark haired woman with a tan, olive complexion slink toward their table. She was beautiful, with almond eyes, a very generous bust and slim waist.

“Jaime! Tyrion!” The woman smiled seductively at the two men, waving at them flirtatiously and raising her eyebrows when she saw Brienne.

“Ah, Taena - what a lovely and _unexpected_ surprise. What brings you here?” Tyrion said smoothly.

“Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood and got thirsty. You know how it is,” she said casually, her eyes zeroing in on Jaime's arm that was still around Brienne. Brienne wondered if this Taena woman was Jaime’s ex. She certainly acted that way.

“Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Tyrion said dryly.

Taena focused on Brienne now, and offered her small hand for a handshake. “I’m Taena. Who are you?”

“This is Brienne Tarth,” Jaime said smoothly. “Brienne is a brilliant artist...and my girlfriend.” Brienne could not stop the rampant blush that invaded her cheeks upon his pronouncement.

The brown-haired woman flinched and pulled her hand away from Brienne’s grasp as if she’d been bitten by a snake.

“Oh...how lovely to meet you, Brienne.” Taena said in a vague tone, frowning gently. Soon enough, the woman murmured her excuses and scurried away, quickly reaching into her bag for her phone.

“Hmmm. I wonder what terrible things are going to come out of this so-called chance encounter,” mused Tyrion, a bemused expression on his face.

“I couldn’t care less.” Jaime announced. 

Brienne must have looked puzzled, for Tyrion supplied, “Taena is Cersei’s best friend and personal assistant. We both think she’s reporting our conversation to our dear cousin right now.”

“Gods, Tyrion. Would you stop?” Jaime said, annoyance in his voice.

“Know thy enemy,” Tyrion simply replied, raising his glass in a mock toast and downing the rest of his Old Fashioned.

=====

Jaime’s annoyance at both Tyrion and the unexpected appearance of Taena at San Souci lasted on their walk back to his apartment. Brienne threw him worried glances as they walked the few blocks in the cool night air. He wanted to shake his mood, but it seemed that something unpleasant had gotten a hold of him and refused to let go.

When they returned to the apartment, Jaime threw himself down on the sofa. “Gods, at moments like this, I wish I still smoked.”

Brienne handed him a glass of ice water. “That bad, huh?”

He gave her a forlorn look. “I don’t know, I just can’t shake this worry. It’s Tyrion and his paranoia about Cersei. They detest each other, did you know? Cersei was always jealous that Tyrion was a trueborn son of Tywin - and a dwarf - while she was just an orphan cousin who played at being our sister. When he was just a baby she tried to hurt him once - at least I think it was just once - but I and Oberyn Martell, who happened to be visiting, stopped her. Tyrion, for his part, has returned her hatred with equal venom. They’ll never get along.”

“And you’re stuck in the middle.” Brienne said thoughtfully.

“Yes, but Tyrion has always resented me because Cersei and I were involved. It left him out, obviously. He was convinced for years that I had chosen Cersei and would always choose her.” Jaime ducked his head. “I suppose he wasn’t wrong in that instance. I didn’t want to choose but I did end up choosing her over him. It’s no wonder that he’s so relieved and thrilled that I’m with you now.”

“He seems to think Cersei may be plotting something….”

Jaime nodded, and furrowed his brow as he looked at Brienne. “Well, the fact that Taena _coincidentally_ was there tonight is a bit of a concern. She is very close to Cersei. And Tyrion, well, he always believes that she’s up to no good.”

“And you? Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know, in all honesty. Cersei is not a good person and she is as vindictive as they come. But I don’t know. I talked to her - and she took the demise of our relationship relatively well, I’d say. I was expecting wine glasses thrown at my head, or slaps, to be honest. I can’t imagine what else she could do to hurt me beyond what she’s already done while in our relationship.”

“Gods Jaime - she was abusive to you?” Brienne’s eyes widened in surprise.

Jaime smiled. “No, not necessarily. I always felt I could handle her - I mean I’m twice her size. You just need to ride out her violent outbursts. I was never scared of her, Brienne. She just had a temper. She made me angry, but never scared.”

Brienne, bless her, looked skeptical. “But Jaime, that’s not - that’s not _normal_.”

Jaime shrugged. He noticed, as he did throughout the night, how ravishing she looked. With her hair and makeup, and that blue jumpsuit, she looked like a rock n roll star. Her eyes were wide with concern for him. 

“Let’s not talk about Cersei any more, Brienne. I’d rather talk about you.” He gave her a seductive smile.

“Me?” Brienne squeaked adorably, blushing faintly.

“Like how you impressed Olenna Tyrell so much with your work that she came out of retirement to become your agent.”

She threw him a proud and fond glance. Gods, she was irresistible. He pulled her so she was on top of him on the couch.

“And how our paintings are going to be shown in King’s Landing, and touring the whole of Westeros,” He kissed her neck and inhaled the fresh, citrus scent of her. “Being shown in all the top modern art museums, in front of thousands of people.”

“Jaime,” she moaned into his neck as her hands started to unbutton his shirt. “Those paintings are just as much yours as mine.” Her warm hand carded the hair of his chest and pulled it a little, making him gasp. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Brienne,” he said softly, before he pulled her head down for a sensuous, warm kiss. His tongue explored her mouth and she hummed her kiss into him, making him weak with want.

She pulled his shirt away from him and trailed hot kisses all along his neck and down his chest. Her fingernails followed the path of her kisses, making him whimper with the added sensation. When she continued her kisses down his abdomen, he could feel his cock quickly growing his trousers.

“Brienne,” Jaime moaned, more than a little desperate.

She grinned, looking up at him with wild blue eyes, as she started to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. “Let your _girlfriend_ take care of you tonight, Jaime.”

Fuck, her words sent a jolt to his already hard cock. He whimpered. She giggled, pulling his pants down along with his briefs, blessedly freeing his rampant erection. Gods, Jaime could not imagine at sight more stimulating than a blue jump-suited Brienne kneeling in front of his cock, her red lips wet and open. 

She gripped him, holding on to the base of his cock while she experimentally licked it from root to tip, her face intently studying his reaction. Jaime wanted to shout. In her next lick she started from his balls, sucking them in her mouth, making him wild and drawing out animal grunts from him. He felt her lips around the head of his cock, as her tongue swirled wetly. 

He threw his head back. “ _Fuck_ , Brienne.”

When she clumsily took him into her mouth, he groaned loudly, overwhelmed by the warmth of her mouth and how it completely enveloped him. He nearly fell apart when he opened his eyes and saw Brienne’s plump, red mouth moving up and down his cock, her eyes watching his pleasure. For someone he hadn’t done this before, she was very good. A prodigy, really.

“Gods, oh gods, oh gods,” Jaime whined, unable to take the unbelievable feeling of her mouth. He could not think of anything else - his mind was gone, and all was the overwhelming feeling of Brienne’s hot mouth caressing his cock. He fisted the cushions of the couch, trying to resist the urge to thrust into her mouth. But she went faster now, her pace regular, as her one hand slid up and down the base of his cock in time with the movements of her mouth. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, as the pressure in his spine built and he felt himself tense and rise. When she used her other hand to cup and squeeze his balls, he screamed Brienne’s name and completely unravelled, as he fell and rose and sharp bursts of pleasure crashed over him. He bucked his hips and poured his spend into her throat in forceful streams.

“Gods. Fuck. I feel like you’ve killed me, Brienne,” he weakly muttered. “Death by orgasm.”

His bones - gods, did he have bones? It didn’t feel like it. In fact, it felt like his bones had been replaced by jello. Gods, he still trembled with small aftershocks of pleasure. Brienne curled on top of him and practically purred at a job well done. Her weight was somehow very reassuring.

Before she could move away, he started undoing the buttons of her jumpsuit, but his fingers were fumbling somehow, and Brienne laughed and started taking care of the buttons herself, and soon she was naked on top of him, and he was sorry that he’d already just come because he very much wanted to fuck her at that very moment. Instead, he nudged her body up, higher and higher, to her confusion, until she was kneeling on either side of his head.

“Jaime,” she said, hesitant. “Are you sure? I’m heavy. I don’t want to suffocate you.”

He replied by pulling her hips down to his face, and she smelled sexy and musky and he wanted to drown in her juices. She was dripping just from sucking him off, and that excited him even more. He pulled her lower now and she cried out as his mouth was drinking her, as his tongue was thrusting inside her.

“Jaime!” Brienne cried as she held onto the sturdy arms of the couch. He moved his mouth up so he was sucking at her clit now, and she must have been close even before, because she came within a few short minutes, her body shuddering above him and her cunt dripping on him. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more and he continued sucking and licking her and gods she was grinding against his mouth now and she broke apart soon after, shouting her pleasure, shouting his name.

Later, when they showered together in his absurdly large shower stall, he became hard again while soaping up Brienne’s body, and it was all too simple to swing one of her legs around his waist and slide in, making both of them moan. She was a few inches taller than him and her legs were longer, and fucking her standing up was a dream as he pounded her hard as water pounded on his back. She clutched his back, forcefully thrusting her cunt against his movements, and she kissed him, and he swallowed her cries when she came. The shuddering of her cunt around him was too much and he too, came hard with a few last, wild thrusts. 

When they were in Jaime’s bed, his arms and legs naturally wrapped around her like a barnacle, Brienne turned to him with curious eyes. “What you said earlier, when you introduced me as your girlfriend. Did you mean it?”

The sweetness of Brienne. He wanted to kiss her, so he did. “Of course I did, Brienne. I suppose we should have talked about what this-” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “Is, but if you’re okay with it, I’d like to be your boyfriend. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a little over two months-”

“Jaime, yes, of course it’s okay that we have a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. Though I don’t have experience in how to be a girlfriend, to be honest.”

“Oh Brienne,” Jaime murmured into her ear. “You are absolutely perfect just the way you are.”

They grinned at each other. 

Jaime looked at her wistfully. “Maybe we should scrap our plans and just stay in and fuck all day tomorrow?”

Brienne bit her lip and looked a bit tempted, then shook her head. “No Jaime. You have too many important things lined up tomorrow. And I don’t want to disappoint Jon.”

He pouted. “But I want my _girlfriend_ all to myself.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Why did I agree to be your girlfriend again?”

Jaime smiled slyly, pulling her even closer. “Because of my cock. Or is it my tongue?”

“Gods!” Brienne cried, as she bopped him in the head with a pillow. Jaime laughed and pulled his woman even closer. Gods, he could not get enough of his _girlfriend_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder to stop reading here if you want a happy, angst-free JB tale. For the rest of you, don't worry, this has a happy ending. 😍


	10. TEN

[](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Jon lived on the edges of Flea Bottom, once a poor neighbourhood that had recently undergone major gentrification, with affluent, middle-aged couples buying property, hoping to ignite some part of their youth by living in the neighbourhood where they once frequented smelly dives and had gotten underage drunk. Ironically, their presence was driving the rents up of said dive bars and seedy restaurants, and many of their once-beloved venues soon shuttered and were lost to nostalgia. Hip cafes and farm-to-table restaurants popped up in the neighbourhood to replace these old businesses and the area quickly became staid and rather respectable.

The part where Jon lived with Ygritte was still affordable and slightly rundown; however, because the buildings were so old, the apartments were relatively large and spacious. Brienne felt more than a little guilty when she compared her own studio floor complete with an apartment to Jon’s spare room that he used as his studio, its corners crammed with canvases. Still, the windows were sizeable and allowed a lot of natural light.

“Where’s Ygritte?” Brienne asked, looking around his empty cans filled with paint brushes. She did not notice any of his girlfriend’s things in the living room.

Jon gave her a long look and sighed. “Winterfell.”

She gave him a sharp but curious glance. Jon cringed. “She got a permanent gig with a TV station there - it’s a great opportunity where she’ll be producing Northern stories, and where she can have a lot of independence. Her dream job, basically.”

Jon shook his head. “We always talked about eventually going back North, but I never expected it to be so soon. But Ygritte was born north of the Wall, and the North is in her blood. It’s no wonder she missed it and wanted to go back.”

Brienne looked at him with pity. “But Jon, where does that leave you? What about the two of you?”

Jon shrugged. “There was never an official breakup - I mean, Ygritte isn’t the type to talk about feelings anyway. But I guess we are broken up? She was angry, we fought. Still, we’re sort of friendly, but no longer together.”

“Gods, I’m sorry.” Jon looked at her morosely and led them back to the living room.

“My work is here now, you know? I can’t go North. I don’t know if I even want to at this point. And so I suppose we have separate lives. I have to learn to live without her.”

Jon walked to the kitchen and took out a couple of glasses, pouring a finger of whisky in each. He handed her one and settled on the green plaid couch that was the eyesore that dominated the room.

“It’s only afternoon, probably a bit early for this, but I need it. If you would indulge me.” Jon took a gulp of the liquor, wincing slightly.

Brienne took a careful sip, rather enjoying the heat and burn as it went down her throat. She threw him a concerned glance. “Jon. Are you okay living here for yourself? I mean with the rent?”

He smiled and patted her shoulder. “I miss you, Brienne. You’re so godsdamn thoughtful and caring.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I’m doing all right, financially. I’ve actually been commissioned to do a bunch of portraits for the wealthy and well-heeled of King’s Landing. Photographs are passé, apparently, and there is nothing more prestigious than to have a real portrait done by a real artist. Just like it was hundreds of years ago.”

“Gods, really?” She looked at him with wide eyes. “Rich people are paying you to paint them? How did you get this gig?”

Jon straightened up and grinned. “Well, as it happens, your _boyfriend_ , Jaime Lannister himself, made a few introductions for me, and well, as soon as I did one, word started to spread.”

“ _Jaime_? Jaime helped you?” Her voice was incredulous.

Jon rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ he didn’t mention it to you. To him, it’s not a big deal, but those introductions were worth their weight in gold.” He cocked his head. “Of course, the style that they want is very traditional, but it gives me good practice nonetheless, and allows me to do my own portraits in whichever way I want in my off time.”

He smirked at her. “How are things with Jaime, by the way? I haven’t seen you in weeks! Lost in a love haze, I suppose.”

Brienne felt herself go vibrant red, remembering that they did little more than painting and fucking in the past few weeks. “Things are good between us. Very good.” She widened her eyes and shook her head. “Though I have no idea how I ended up being in a relationship with Jaime Lannister of all people. I mean, look at him, and look at me.”

“Brienne.” Jon stared at her with an intense expression. “The man is lucky to have you. He should be thanking his lucky stars that you came into his life and completely changed it. He hasn’t had the best taste in women, as you well know.”

“That’s it, Jon - Cersei is the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Of course he was in love with her!”

Jon gestured for her to drink and she complied. “Holy hells, Brienne. Cersei may be physically beautiful but she’s completely rotten on the inside. The stories my clients tell about her - well, if someone said she was a demon in disguise, I would well believe it. You are a vast improvement. Trust me.”

Jon brought over the bottle of whisky and refilled her glass. “Have some more. You’ll need this.” Brienne bit her lip.

He gave her a suspicious look. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You promised.”

Brienne huffed. “Of course I haven’t!” She did consider it, of course, but in the end, she wanted to remain true to her word.

Jon grinned. “Okay.” He dragged a chair facing the window. “Sit here. You’ve got a tank top and shorts under there? Good.”

She slipped off the robe she was wearing and sat, as Jon set up his easel and canvas. First though, he perched next to it, a sketchbook in his lap. Brienne had no idea how to look or how to hold her body. She could feel herself getting red.

Jon smiled kindly at her. “Brienne - tell me about what you did this morning, why don’t you? Let me get you started - ‘Jaime made me breakfast’”

Brienne laughed. “Lucky guess. Jaime did make me breakfast. But it was just store bought yogurt and granola, nothing special.”

Jon’s hands were swiftly moving on the paper, though he maintained eye contact with her.

“Okay, what else happened?”

She gave him a secretive smile. “Well, I met with Olenna Tyrell. She actually gave me a smartphone so she could contact me.”

Jon stared open-mouthed at her. “Hold on. What is happening with you and the legendary Olenna Tyrell?”

Brienne told him about the collaborative paintings with Jaime, the meeting with the Tyrells, and how Olenna had loved her solo paintings and wanted to be her agent. Jon reacted with joy at her news, and seemed genuinely happy for her. His enthusiasm infected her; all of a sudden, she felt incredibly fortunate and was genuinely astounded at her luck. She felt warm and almost giddy.

She must admit that Jon had a gift in making her feel relaxed and most of all, feel like herself. She stopped feeling self-conscious and began just to enjoy his company. Of course, the whisky that Jon topped up her glass with also helped. After he did preliminary sketches, he started with paint on the canvas. Later, he took out his impressive camera and photographed her from all angles. Of course, she repaid him in kind, taking more than a few images of him on her brand new phone.

By the time she returned to Jaime’s apartment - Jon had kindly put her in a cab - Brienne was lighthearted and happy and admittedly a little bit drunk. Jon had fed her - they ordered in pizza, but even the grease didn’t seem to absorb the alcohol she had drunk quickly over the past few hours.

When she entered the building she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to have called Jaime to pick her up or meet her somewhere, because she didn’t have keys. Luckily, the doorman recognized her from the night before and let her inside the building. She took the elevator up. When she reached his door she knocked, possibly a little too loudly.

He immediately opened the door, in a t-shirt and shorts, his face tired and a little annoyed. He looked her up and down, obviously noticing her very sloppy smile, and gave her a surprised but relieved look. “Brienne! You’re finally here. You were supposed to call me.”

Brienne was very happy to see Jaime’s ridiculously beyond gorgeous face. And body. He was perfect in every way. She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.

“Oof.” He grunted. “Gods, Brienne. You smell like a distillery! What happened?”

“Nothing! I drank a little too much at Jon’s. Because I was posing for him, you see.” She rested her chin on his perfect, firm shoulder. 

Jaime pulled her away and led her to the couch, and she plopped down. He turned to face her. “What. You _posed_ for Jon? Today?”

“Yup.” Brienne looked at Jaime’s worried face and giggled. “Gods, Jaime, not naked. He wouldn’t want to paint me naked. I promised, you know? So he’s painting me. Not like the rich people, but like Jon’s own style. He’s very good, you know.”

Jaime got up and gave her a glass of water, which she happily drank. He gave her a serious look. “Brienne, I was worried about you. When you hadn’t called-”

“Jaime!” Brienne exclaimed reaching down to the bag around her shoulders and dramatically rummaged for something inside. “I have a phone now!” She held up the shiny object to him. “Olenna made me. But she also showed me to put it on silent so I don’t ever have to be interrupted.”

He looked at her with amusement now, worry temporarily smoothed from his face. “I’ve never seen a drunk Brienne before.” His green eyes gleamed. “You must give me your phone number when you get sober, Tarth.”

Brienne was sleepy, and slumped against him. 

Jaime stroked her hair. “It seems like drunk Brienne is sleepy Brienne.” He helped her get on her feet. “Come on, wench. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Wench?” Brienne laughed.

It was strange how the floor was suddenly wobbly under her feet, but she managed with Jaime’s help to get to the bed. She started to undress, but her fingers were suddenly clumsy and it took ages to undo the first button of her shirt.

Jaime, smiling, made a noise of disapproval. “I guess I’ll have to undress you.” He made swift work of her clothes, leaving her in her cotton briefs. 

She embraced him, rubbing her naked chest against him. Jaime made a choked sound. “Jaime, will you fuck me?” She drew him tighter, feeling his erection grow against her thigh. She licked her lips and kissed him. He responded initially with a moan, but suddenly pulled back. 

“I don’t want to fuck you when you’re drunk, Brienne,” he said, his voice hoarse and his expression pained. 

Instead, he drew back the covers and laid her down. “Okay,” Brienne said happily, nuzzling her head on the pillow. Jaime slid in beside her, sighing and turning off the light of the lamp.

She felt so very good. Jaime was right beside her, warm and solid in his thin t-shirt and sleeping shorts. She cuddled him, and relaxed as his arm came around her. She closed her eyes, smiling to herself. “I love you, Jaime,” Brienne murmured, moments before she fell into a deep sleep.

=====

The first thing Jaime thought when he woke up was how good Brienne felt next to him. He hadn’t known before Brienne how it would feel to sleep beside someone night after night, feel her warmth, hear her breathing, have her touch you and reach out for you during the night. Even after being with a woman for over twenty years, it was only with Brienne that Jaime knew what a real relationship was like, even though they had only been together for only about two months at this point.

The second thought he had was the memory of a drunk Brienne saying she loved him right before she fell asleep. When he first heard it, he was stunned and a strange thrill ran up his spine. He was elated. She _loved_ him. Sure, she had said it while she was drunk and barely conscious, but Brienne _loved_ him. He thought that there was no better feeling in the world, before he had succumbed to sleep.

The third thought lingered with him that morning, long after he’d slowly extricated himself from Brienne’s arms and padded into the washroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He looked into the mirror and saw an exhausted, befuddled man. A dishonorable man. A man who was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, a man who has deluded himself into thinking he could escape his past and be happy. A man who stupidly thought he could be loved by an honourable woman. 

Yesterday, when he returned from the photoshoot for an ad campaign that Margaery had roped him into, he found Cersei sitting in the lobby, waiting for him. Instead of her usual disdainful expression, her face conveyed worry, and she was clutching her designer bag closely in her lap. To say that Jaime was surprised would have been an understatement. Cersei had never come to his apartment, not once in all the years; he had always gone to _her_.

She sat down on his couch and took off her black coat to reveal a white, lacy blouse and a long, pleated pink skirt. In the outfit, Jaime thought she almost looked like the innocent girl she once had been, when they both experienced the stirrings of first love. She gratefully accepted a glass of wine and took a large gulp. Jaime sat on the opposite end of the couch, observing her. He had never seen Cersei so perturbed before. She looked shaken and unsure, pale and a little ill, so different from her usual smug, all-knowing expression.

“Cersei,” he began, “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

She gave him a nervous look and twisted her hands. “I didn’t know what to do. I had no one to turn to but you, Jaime. You’ve always been there for me. Always helped me.”

A part of him softened at the sight of the beautiful Cersei, so vulnerable, her lips twisting with nerves. If this were six months ago, he would have immediately taken her in his arms and held her until she settled down.

“What is it?” He probed gently.

She paused in thought, and when she looked up, her eyes contained pain and fear. “Robert...he’s being horrible. He hates me so, and he’s beginning to suspect…” Cersei looked down at her hands, looking ashamed. “He’s finally started to figure out that I haven’t been...faithful to him. He’s going to divorce me and leave me with nothing! When he finds out….”

“He’s been screwing around with half the floozies in King’s Landing and Storm’s End,” Jaime protested. “He’s hardly in a position to protest.”

Cersei gave him a hard stare. “You know that things are different for women, even in this day and age. A man can fool around. Not women. Besides, I can’t let this come out, it would ruin my reputation.”

“There’s no harm in divorce, Cersei,” Jaime said reasonably. “You can make a new life for yourself.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You don’t understand, Jaime. He’ll find out about…”

He waited for her to finish her sentence. She swallowed and a tear rolled down her eye.

“Jaime,” she half whispered. “Tommen...isn’t Robert’s child.”

He stared at her blankly. She looked at him, tears filling her eyes once again. “You. You’re his father.”

Jaime felt a chasm drop under his feet, and all of a sudden he was falling into an endless pit. The room spun for a few seconds. He was a _father_ , Tommen’s father. The little boy was only eight years old, and he was sweet natured and blonde and green-eyed just like Jaime. He was even a little plump just like Jaime was at his age. A wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him weak and lightheaded. It had been so obvious but he didn’t allow himself to see it. He clutched the couch cushions for support, until he felt Cersei take his hand into hers.

“I’m sorry, Jaime. I should have told you right away. But I’d thought it’d be easier for everybody to have Robert believe he’d fathered a son. We’d been trying to have a baby together for years, you see. I just wanted it to be true, that Tommen was Robert’s.”

“Are you sure, Cersei?” Jaime said in a low voice, disbelieving.

“The timing, Jaime. I lied to Robert - he believes that Tommen was a month early.” Cersei’s face crumpled. “I don’t care what he does to me - but he can’t hurt my son. I thought Robert loved Tommen but he’s too angry at me.” She was in tears now, sobbing quietly and she sought comfort in his arms, weeping into his chest. Maybe it was habit or instinct, or maybe a part of him still cared, but Jaime found himself drawing his arms around her and holding her, stroking the long, silky waves of her golden hair. 

“He’s going to leave us penniless,” Cersei sniffed and cried. “Tommen will be cut out of his rightful inheritance.”

“Come now, Cersei. It can’t be that bad. Robert raised the boy, after all.”

She tightened her arms around him. “You don’t know how angry he gets when he’s drunk.”

Jaime held her shoulders and looked down at her face. “Has he hurt you again?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Not like in the beginning when he got blackout drunk. I haven’t let him touch me or share my bed since our son was born. But last night - I almost thought - well, he just yelled and threatened. I left convinced that he would leave me and Tommen with nothing. He said his brother Stannis had proof. I don’t know what it could be!”

“I’ll talk to him.” Jaime looked at her with determination.

“It will just make it worse. He knows it’s you I’ve been in love with all this time, that it was you who I wished I married instead of him.”

“Cersei,” Jaime warned. His insides lurched.

“It’s no use. The truth is going to come out and I’ll be a penniless divorcee with no brand or reputation to speak of. Tommen will be fatherless.” Cersei looked mournfully up at him. Jaime thought that Cersei had never been so open with him before. It made part of him glad, but a huge part of him shook with worry. 

“Anyway, he’s gone to Storm’s End for a few days with cousin Lancel, who’s working as his personal assistant. Gods, at least I’ll have a few days of peace. I suspect he’ll come home with divorce papers for me as a souvenir.” Cersei said bitterly, downing the rest of her wine. She looked around his place now, her eyes stopping on Brienne’s blue painting on the living room wall.

“Is this by her? Your new girlfriend?” She looked at him with tired eyes. “Taena filled me in.”

Jaime nodded, his mouth suddenly gone dry. She stared at the painting as if lost.

“You’re right: she is talented. Even I can see the value of her work.” Her face looked still and sad. She looked up at him with glistening green eyes which were red and swollen, but which made her look even more vulnerable and lovely. “I wish-” Cersei bit her red lips and stopped herself.

She smoothed the fabric of her blouse reflexively. She stood up. “I should go. I’m sorry for coming to you like this - I didn’t want to barge in, but I was at my wit’s end. I only thought of you.”

“Any time, Cersei. It’s no trouble. I just wish things were different for you.” Jaime felt a sudden tenderness for her that he hadn’t felt in months - or was it years?

She looked at him right in the eye and nodded. “I wish things were different too, Jaime. I wished I had made the right choices.”

She gave him a hug goodbye, and Jaime smelled her spicy, floral scent and he remembered too many things. Her body felt too familiar in his arms. She slowly drew away and reached up to her toes to give him a brief kiss on the mouth. Her lips were warm.

“Good bye, Jaime.” She turned to go but briefly turned back. “Jaime...I hope you know how sorry I am for taking you for granted. I shouldn’t have. You are the only man I’ve ever loved. Will ever love. I want you to know.”

All Jaime could do was nod mutely and watch her close the door behind her. He stood there too long. He felt pulled in different directions and he was feeling too many things at once. He didn’t know what to think or what to do. Cersei had come to his home. She had told him that Tommen was his child, that he was a father, and she had kept him away from the boy for all these years. She had revealed her fears to him as she’d never done before. And she had been open and honest and wore her heart on her sleeve. She had said things that he wished she’d said years ago. 

When Jaime thought about the events of yesterday, it felt like a million years ago. When Brienne returned, silly and happily drunk, he had been able to put his own anxieties aside and just glory in her giddy presence. He could easily pretend that Cersei hadn’t visited him and shaken up his thoughts and feelings. He could pull Brienne close and smell the scent of her and believe that he was a good man, a man who was better than he really was in reality. A man who deserved a woman like Brienne.


	11. ELEVEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Brienne came downstairs to find Jaime setting the table for breakfast. On the table was a plate of croissants and muffins, a plate of bacon, and a bowl of cut fruit. He looked up when he saw her and smiled. He looked tired, redness evident around his eyes.

“Finally up, wench? I’d thought you’d sleep the day away. I’ll have to talk to Jon about feeding you only whisky last night.”

Admittedly her head was a tad tender and the kitchen was all too bright, but considering how much she drank, the situation was not that bad. She didn’t feel sick to her stomach and she was hungry.

“ _Wench_? You called me that last night.” She rubbed her squinted and rubbed her eyes. “Besides, we also had pizza, it wasn’t all whisky.”

Jaime let out an amused huff, pulled out a chair for her and she plopped down. As if by magic, a big mug of coffee was before her and she greedily gulped it down, wincing at the heat of the liquid.

“As it happens, Drunk Brienne reminded me of a tavern wench, _wench_ ,” he teased, kissing her on the forehead.

Brienne winced. “Gods, was I terrible last night?” She had a vague memory of the night - she was sure that she had said something embarrassing - though she couldn’t remember what. Something vaguely stirred at the back of her mind.

“Gods, no! I only had to fend off advances from a naked wench. Luckily, I was too honourable to succumb to her drunken charms.”

She groaned and lay her head on the table. Jaime barked a laugh and wafted the plate of bacon under her nose.

“Come, Brienne, eat up. This bacon and croissants won’t eat themselves.”

Brienne was actually hungry. She tore into the pastry and munched on the bacon. Jaime stared at her eating, amusement in his eyes. His full plate remained untouched, however. As he looked at her, she sensed a change in his eyes, and she noticed touches of melancholy seeping into his glances. Soon, he was staring at his coffee, mouth turned down in thought. Weary.

“How was the modelling?” she asked, remembering his appointment from the day before.

“Oh - it was fine. A lot of posing against a wall and all that. Great clothes though.” He replied quickly, but still seemed preoccupied.

As Brienne looked at his unshaven but stupidly handsome face, the green of his eyes which gleamed gold in the morning sunlight, she flashed to the night before, how her arms were around him in bed, how happy she was, and how she said...gods…those _three_ little words. No wonder he was suddenly acting odd. They had only been together for a couple of months and she had said it, stupidly, without thinking. She felt her cheeks aflame and tried to hide it by taking sip after sip of coffee, hoping he wouldn’t notice her acute mortification. _Stupid Brienne_.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t _meant_ it - she had realized her feelings for Jaime were growing exponentially every day, ever since the night when they painted together. She just couldn’t believe her luck. Jaime was the best thing that happened to her; he had made her feel appreciated, like she was worth _being_ in this world. She and her art had never felt so understood as when he was with her; they had connected on a level that was beyond sexual or emotional attraction, as if the songs that made their souls sing were one and the same. Yet even she, with her very limited romantic experience, knew it was too soon to confess love; they had only just become girlfriend/boyfriend, after all. She had to say something, correct herself. Blame it on the booze - anything.

“Brienne.” Jaime suddenly burst out, his eyes finding her and holding her gaze. His face was drawn and tired and she felt cold dread run down her spine.

“Jaime, if it’s about last night-”

He shook his head and looked down, his face pained. “No.” He paused and pursed his lips. He sighed.

“Yesterday afternoon, Cersei came by.” He looked up at her, weary. “She’d never come here before. She caught me by surprise. But she’s having trouble with Robert; she thinks he’s going to divorce her.” He paused and bit his lip. He opened his mouth again to say more, but stopped himself.

Brienne studied his face and felt there was something that he wasn’t saying. “Did you sleep with her?” she whispered.

Jaime looked stricken and appalled. “No! Brienne, I would never cheat on you. No, nothing like that happened.” He stared into his coffee and shook his head. “She was distraught and sad. In all honesty, I had never seen her so vulnerable before. It was...it was...weird.” His face had an odd softness to it as he recalled the memory. She shivered.

Brienne could not help but remember the vision of Cersei Lannister in red, her face and body the envy of the world. She could not imagine how it must feel to have that much power. In comparison, her own face was like that of a very pale cow. The effect of perfect beauty - she could not underestimate it.

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know why I brought her up. It’s just that it happened, and it upset me more than I thought it would.”

Brienne nodded and got up from the table. She started to clear the dishes, putting them in the sink and started to wash them, even though Jaime obviously had a state-of-the-art dishwasher at his disposal. She liked the feeling of the warm water, the slipperiness of the soap. It helped her think and not fixate as she was wont to do.

“I’ll pack up, so we can drive back soon,” Jaime said.

She turned. “Jaime - you can stay here, you know. I’ll go back. I have my truck. I know you haven’t quite finished your business meetings.”

“Nonsense, Brienne. It’s about time we get back to the studio. I’m sure Olenna wants us to send her men over to pick up the paintings, isn’t that right? I know how she works too well.”

Brienne let out a small smile. “That’s right. She’s sending her assistants with a van tomorrow to pick up our paintings, and the ones I have. They’re best stored in her gallery, don’t you think?”

Jaime nodded. “That’s how it generally works. We’ll have more room for new paintings then.” He smiled at her and climbed up the stairs. Even at this distance she could see how tense he was in the way he carried his shoulders. Cersei had come back into his life, and she could see that there was some conflict that was brewing inside him.

Brienne shuddered when she thought about the two of them - how they had been together for over twenty years; two perfectly matched beauties, so alike they looked like twins. Do people suddenly turn off their feelings after decades together? Or would there always be something there, a thin, golden thread that would forever link them? Can a love that had been broken off suddenly return? Was the return inevitable? Brienne inwardly groaned. Cersei had been distressed, he’d said. She had never been vulnerable. It seemed to touch him, amaze him, even. Of course it was last night, after he was in the same room as Cersei, that Brienne confessed that she was in love with him. She was glad she was drunk when she said those words, even though she had truly meant them. It would be easier now to ignore that she had said them to him at all.

=====

The next few days were odd, to say the least. True to her word, Olenna’s men, twins Erryk and Arryk (whom the older woman called “Left” and “Right”), came by with a large, black climate-controlled truck, carefully wrapping the paintings and carrying them out. Brienne felt a little sorry to see her and Jaime’s paintings go - they had long been symbols of their fledgling relationship, and to see them carted off seemed too on the nose to the situation they were in. 

Jaime was mostly normal but she sometimes caught him brooding and thinking deeply about something. But when he noticed her, he seemed to revive and a brightness would come back to his face. He did not speak about Cersei again, nor did he tell her what was bothering him. He lavished attention on her and was even more affectionate when they were together. In bed, he made love to her with a desperation that unnerved her - he focused so much on her pleasure, and he made her cry out and peak again and again, then pounded into her with an intense focus that wrung the life out of him when he exploded inside her. It was overwhelming. She could not help but feel all of it as a warning.

He’d said little as he pulled her closer against his chest, her back to him, lavishing kisses on her neck and shoulders. When they slept together, bodies entwined, it was almost perfect and Brienne could almost forget the low alarm that churned in her belly. She did not know what was wrong, exactly, or if something indeed was wrong. She hoped that it was just her imagination.

During the day, she stayed in her studio and painted. It had been and was still her constant refuge from the storms of confusion and her emotions. As always, painting returned her to herself. Her brushstrokes had become more precise, the lines sharper and more deliberate in the way they curved and wobbled. The canvas was the world in which she had complete control; a yellow could be made brighter by a touch of Titanium white; a blue more melancholic by the addition of Mars Black.

Jaime was away downtown these days, meeting with gallerists and working on a retrospective catalogue of his paintings over the past fifteen years. Yet despite his packed schedule, he had always returned to her bed.

One evening, her phone rang. She wiped away the oil paint from her fingers and picked up her new cell phone, which she had barely used since Olenna gave it to her days prior. Only the Tyrells, Asha, Jon and Jaime had her number.

“Hello?”

“Brienne,” Jaime’s deep familiar voice called out.

“Jaime? Hi!”

“Listen Brienne-” She noticed suddenly that he sounded off - gruff - as if his throat was scratchy. “Robert Baratheon is dead. He was in Storm’s End. Car accident, they say. Cersei and Tommen are over there, safe thank gods, not in the car…. My father and Tyrion are on their way there, and I have to go with them.”

“Jaime, that’s awful. I’m sorry-”

“Look, I’ll be away for a few days, maybe a week. There will likely be a funeral, I don’t know.” He paused, his voice broke a little. “Cersei - well, she’s upset. Tommen is devastated. I have to be there.”

“Alright. I understand. Take your time, Jaime. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Brienne - I’ll come back as soon as I can, when this mess is sorted.” There was a note of pleading in his voice.

“Yes,” Brienne said, trying to sound calm.

“I’ll call you.” She heard voices in the background, calling to him. “I have to go, the plane’s here.”

“Okay, Jaime. Take care.”

“Goodbye, Brienne.”

He hung up. She stared at her phone as if it were at fault, her eyes wide. “Goodbye, Jaime,” she whispered to herself.

=====

The cops had come and gone. Tywin, Jaime, and Tyrion arrived to find Cersei and Tommen, surrounded by hangers on and servants, sitting on a divan in the stately grand room of the Baratheon ancestral estate. Tommen was red-eyed, miserable, yet even in grief not clinging to his mother. Instead, he clutched a stuffed black cat, talking and whispering to it, acting as if he were a much younger child. Cersei was pale and stern, shadows under her eyes, her beauty even more evident by the starkness of her expression. Robert’s brothers, Renly and Stannis, sat in armchairs near the window, silent and staring.

Cousin Lancel was pacing, his blond hair wild and green eyes shifting from Cersei back to Jaime, and back again. From the accounts of Lancel and the Baratheon brothers, they had got the main gist of the narrative. Robert had been with Renly and Lancel, and as usual, he’d been drinking at a bar. Then of course, he insisted on driving himself back in his own car, even though Renly and Lancel were returning to Storm’s End in a chauffeured vehicle. Robert had not drunk more than his usual, though Renly thought as he went into the car that he seemed a little more out of it. On the road, Robert was driving erratically but did not stop or slow down - until suddenly he swerved, perhaps to avoid hitting a deer, and the car plunged off the road and crashed at full speed.

The next few days were a blur. There were funeral arrangements; Cersei determined that Robert was to be buried within the week, much to the protests of his brothers. Jaime noticed there was no special love between Cersei and the brothers. Tommen was withdrawn and was only able to be himself when he was with Stannis’ daughter Shireen, who was a few years older and seemed very kind; Jaime was happy to note that Stannis clearly loved her daughter despite the unsightly grey scars on one side of her face. Jaime tried his best to spend time with Tommen, who Jaime had to remember was his true son; the boy was sweet and warm and appeared to like spending more time than usual with his ‘uncle’ Jaime. Yet the darling boy did not seem to be too attached to Cersei, preferring instead to be with his nanny and his stuffed cat.

Lancel hovered around Cersei, at least until his father Kevan arrived and sent him back to Casterly Rock, since the young man seemed particularly unwell, pale and full of nerves. There was no one else who wanted to be with Cersei, so Jaime found himself near her, finding himself waiting for the overwhelming grief that would soon come. But it never came. She was tightly wound, suspicious, but certainly not grieving. At the funeral, she gripped his arm for support when she walked, and her nails dug into him almost painfully. The press was gathered outside the sept as they clicked their cameras at them. Cersei was regal in a long, fitted black gown, making her hair and complexion look even more golden.

The will was read. Whatever his intentions regarding divorcing Cersei, it was clear that Robert did not get a chance to change his wishes, so all his wealth went to his widow and their son, though Storm’s End, the family estate, would remain with Stannis, who was the eldest. 

It was late when they returned from the memorial celebration and the reading of the will. Tommen was sleeping, and Cersei had summoned Jaime into her rooms. She was packing, deliberate and calm in her movements. 

“I’ve had the staff clear away Robert’s things in the King’s Landing townhouse and ship them here.” Cersei said, a little coldly.

“Cersei,” Jaime began, turning to face her. “You just lost your husband. Shouldn’t you-”

“Jaime,” she said, trailing her hand down his arm. “I’m not going to pretend that I’m mourning Robert. I’m _glad_ he’s dead. The way he drank and drove, the end was inevitable. I’m glad that he didn’t take Tommen or anyone else with him.”

“Cersei, he was your husband. For years. You must be in shock.” Jaime stared at her glittering green eyes, so alike to his own.

“I never really loved him.” Cersei said, stepping closer to Jaime. The heat from her body lapped around him like gentle waves. “Not like I loved you, Jaime.” She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. Her smell was reassuring and familiar, as was her kiss.

“I don’t feel sorry that I have my freedom again. Now, I can do what I want. Be with who I want.” Cersei took his hand and squeezed it.

“Cersei,” Jaime said, his throat tight. “We can’t go back as we once were. We can’t.”

She looked up at him, a tenderness he hadn’t remembered ever seeing in her eyes. She reached up to stroke his hair, almost fondly. “Jaime, I don’t want us to go back to how we were. I realize that - it wasn’t good. I was cruel to you, I realize that now. I shouldn’t have betrayed you.” She pursed her lips. “I know I haven’t been the best person. But I want to change, and I need you to help me. Jaime, you’ve always been too good for me. I want to be a good mother to Tommen. I want to be a better person. For you and _our_ son.”

Jaime stared at her, dumbfounded. The chasm opened again.

“We’ve known each other since we were children. We’ve _loved_ each other since we were children. You are the only person who really knows me, and I hope the reverse is true.” Her hands were stroking his cheek now. So gently. A warmth flushed his face. She was so tender, softer than she’d ever been. “Jaime, I don’t want us to go back to how we were. I want us to have a new beginning. You, me, and Tommen. I want to love you as you deserve to be loved. I want us to be a family. No more hiding.”

They were words he had longed to hear for years, and hearing them now made his heart shudder, but whether in alarm or hope he did not know. Cersei had never been so vulnerable and sweet and loving as she was now. A part of Jaime wanted to believe that the sharp edges of Cersei had been dulled by loss and pain, that she really had changed or at least wanted to change. Her eyes were warm and pleading and green like his own.

“Please say you’ll give me another chance,” Cersei whispered, moving to him for an embrace. His arms were suddenly filled with Cersei - her smell, the feel of her silky hair against his cheek, the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin.

“Cersei,” he protested, “I’m with Brienne-”

“Be with _me_ , Jaime. Give us one more chance. One last chance. To be a family. For you to be a real father to Tommen. We’ll get married, we’ll live together. We’ll be happy, I promise.” She reached up on her tip-toes and softly kissed his cheek.

Her arms tightened around him, and he felt her press desperately against his body. Gods, he wanted to resist, but he felt himself wanting her again, perhaps out of habit, perhaps out of some strange and twisted hope. Nevertheless, he pulled away.

“I have to think-” Jaime sputtered, his head foggy and unsure. He left her room, feeling longing, nostalgia, and a heavy sense of guilt.


	12. TWELVE

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

When Brienne hadn’t heard from Jaime in a week, she assumed that he was busy with the funeral and with his family, and thought nothing of it. Robert Baratheon had been a well-loved politician for his gregarious ways, and the funeral and memorial service drew politicians and public figures from all over Westeros. In the news coverage, she glimpsed Renly, the man she had a crush on since she was a teenager when he had visited Tarth. He was still darkly handsome, and she remembered how she had loved him for years after that one summer. A hopeless, unrealistic love. Until she met Jaime, that is. He and Cersei were prominently featured in the news footage, him looking handsome in a dark suit, holding Cersei’s arm. A little blond boy of about eight years old stood next to them. Cersei was ravishing in her grief: steely, elegant, and sadly beautiful. Brienne felt a pang in her heart. The three of them looked like the perfect family. The reporter spoke about Robert, the alleged troubled marriage, the romantic history of Cersei and Jaime, and how they were each other’s first loves. 

In the week after the funeral, she learned that Jaime was back in King’s Landing, though he didn’t call until the middle of the week. She could barely remember what he said, he seemed so vague and distracted. 

She texted Tyrion about Jaime. All he cryptically replied was, “He’s fine...but it’s not good.”

That day she put aside the painting she was currently working on and began a new one. She needed to lose herself in work. Art was her salvation. Jon, and even Asha had reached out, wanting to visit, but she put each of them off. This - whatever _this_ was - was something she had to deal with herself. She jogged in the morning. She painted. She slept. The days slid into each other.

One morning she returned from her jog to find Jaime sitting on the stoop of the studio building, echoing the first time that they had spent any real time together. He held out a large to-go cup of coffee to her. He was dressed in jeans and a green button up shirt. He looked handsome, but a bit ragged on the edges, his eyes strained and face pale. Whatever the reason he was here, she could sense that it wasn’t good.

“Jaime. You’re back.” She could not help the note of surprise in her voice.

He flinched a little at her tone and followed her into the building. They went into his studio, which looked empty and bare without the paintings they did together.

“I had forgotten that the paintings were gone,” Jaime remarked, handing her the coffee, which she finally accepted. 

She stared at him. She barely knew what to say. There was too much and at the same time nothing at all that could be said. She didn’t even care that she was red-faced and sweaty from her jog. A worm of dread burrowed its way into her belly.

He gestured for her to sit on the couch. She could barely look at his face – but what she saw in his expression was longing, reluctance and guilt, all rolled into one. She remained standing, holding on to the coffee cup which she had yet to drink from.

“Just say what you’re here to say, Jaime.” She felt tired. She felt she was waiting for the guillotine to drop.

He walked toward her, his hand reaching out, stopping only when she stepped back. “Brienne.”

She sighed. “Please. Jaime. Just get it over with.”

“Brienne, you have no idea how much these few months with you have meant to me-” His face remained odd and pained.

“Gods, Jaime.” She set her coffee down on the table. “Can we skip this part? Just say to me what you’re here to say.”

He nodded, his lips tense. He exhaled loudly. “Tommen - he’s my _son_. Cersei told me before Robert died, that day she visited me a couple of weeks ago.”

It was not the blow she had expected. She had to sit down on the couch. He immediately sat down beside her, a little too close. “He’s still young. There’s a chance that I could still be a true father to him.” He stared at her, his green eyes pleading for her to understand.

“With Cersei.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. It was all too obvious now. His preoccupation, his distracted air. His sudden devotion to his family. The fervent way in which he made love to her in the last week they were together. Of course, Tommen seemed like a sweet child, different from his mother. Robert was dead. Everything changed.

Jaime winced, but nodded. “Cersei finally wants us to be a family. She wants to change, to be a better person. It’s something I’ve been wanting for years and years, Brienne. I can’t give up this chance.”

His words were like bells clanging in her head. Was she going mad? His face was pale and guilty. He was _sorry_ for her. In his eyes, she must be entirely pathetic.

“You and Cersei...are together.” She felt her lips move. Had she truly said that stupid, obvious thing?

He grabbed her hand and held it, too tightly. “Brienne. We’re engaged. No one knows yet, but I wanted to tell you first.”

She stood up, breaking his hold on her hand. She stared at him as if she was looking up from the bottom of an ocean. “I understand.” She backed away. “Thank you for telling me, Jaime. I would have wondered.” She turned around. “I must go. I have to shower.”

“Brienne,” he called after her. “I’m sorry.”

She ran up the stairs, went to her studio and locked the deadbolt behind her. She found herself on the floor, on her knees. She clenched her fists and told herself not to cry. Not over the likes of Jaime Lannister. She tried to slow her breaths. Suddenly she was curled up on the concrete floor. It was reassuringly cold. She closed her eyes and breathed, reminding herself she was still alive.

Eventually, she heard Jaime downstairs, closing the door of the building. Driving away. She breathed easier then. She got up. Went to the bathroom to shower, to wash all of the dirt she had on her off. She was alone. Truly alone, once again.

=====

“You’ve really done it, haven’t you?” Tyrion said, helping himself to Jaime’s bar in his apartment.

His brother was welcome to it. Liquor had not helped Jaime since he blew up his own life. Besides, alcohol was always Cersei’s and Tyrion’s comforts, likely the only thing they had in common.

Jaime groaned and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“After all Cersei has done to you - married someone else, cheated on her husband _and on you_ with _teenage_ Cousin Lancel and a number of others, you still decide to take her back?” His expression was incredulous.

Jaime shook his head and stared at his brother. “Tyrion, you don’t understand the situation. Cersei’s all alone now, with no one to look after her. And Tommen is my child. I’ve already missed the first eight years of his life. I need to make up for that and be a real father to him.”

“Gods, Jaime. You can still be a father to Tommen if you want to, but that doesn’t mean you have to get married to his mother, who’s practically our sister. She’s vile. You know it as well as I do!” Tyrion looked angrily at Jaime, his hands tightly gripping his glass of whisky.

“Tyrion, Cersei is trying to be different - she truly wants to change. She says she’s getting therapy. She loves me, and I feel if I don’t try just this one last time, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. This - the chance to be a family with Cersei - to marry her - is the one thing I’ve wanted all my life. Twenty years, Tyrion.” Jaime wrung his hands.

His brother sneered, his one black eye and one green eye narrowed. “Well, I’m very _happy_ for you, dear brother. To have gotten your heart’s desire. May you be very happy with your future wife.” Tyrion shook his head and chuckled to himself.

“To have made this decision in a matter of a week or two. How does your _girlfriend_ , whom you proudly declared her to be in my presence just a couple short weeks ago - how does _she_ feel about these recent developments?”

Jaime felt queasy. “I told her earlier today.”

Tyrion laughed and Jaime shot him a sharp look. “I take it that it didn’t go so well, huh? Gods, brother. I had hoped that with Brienne you were finally living your own life, one not dictated by our cousin. She was good for you, Jaime. Anyone with eyes could see that. And I believed she cared for you a great deal.”

Jaime said nothing but remembered the shocked and sad look on Brienne’s face when he told her. She had never been able to hide her feelings from him; her face was a painting that told stories, and he saw the utter devastation that had overcome her whole being. Her hurt, her pain. All because of his selfishness.

“Look at you. Full of guilt. I suppose you cared for her in your own way. Obviously not enough. Still, at least she’s free from us Lanninsters. We are terrible people, and in a surprise twist, you seem to be the worst of the lot.”

Tyrion took a deep drink. “Still, Jaime, don’t expect me to come over for family dinner or cocktail hour. I should have gotten used to you choosing Cersei above all others. Still, fool on me for actually believing you had grown a spine and a sense of self this time.”

Jaime stayed silent, knowing he deserved every admonishment. What Tyrion was saying was nothing he had not said to himself. This morning, he had regretted his words to Brienne the moment they came out of his mouth, and he wanted to take them back immediately. She was sweaty and red-cheeked from her run, and he could still picture her pale long legs in her running shorts, her skin flushed. A part of him wanted to forget all of his plans and just bury himself inside her and stay with Brienne, Cersei be damned. But a part of her already seemed to know why he had come, what he had come to tell her. She stood like a woman waiting for her execution, her expression sickly.

He sighed. He noticed, finally, that Tyrion was leaving. Before he parted, his younger brother turned back. “Jaime, don’t expect Brienne to ever forgive you for this. She is not a person who trusts easily, and you have taken her heart and twisted it until it broke. I hope she’s not too damaged at your hands. A woman like her deserves to find someone that would love her as fiercely as she would love them.”

=====

Jaime went to the studio two days later, telling himself he needed some files from his office, but he really went there to see Brienne. Perhaps to make things better between them, somehow. He’d hoped - stupidly, perhaps, that they’d remain friends. He wanted to confess and explain himself, but to what end he did not exactly know. He looked at his studio, the paint piled on the shelf, and remembered how they had painted together, their bodies and minds in complete sync with one another, and how they had kissed and touched each other that very first time. Jaime could not explain away the natural chemistry they had together, their instinctive knowledge of the other even when they were still strangers. He barely believed that was only two and a half months ago, because it seemed to him that he had known Brienne a very long time. He felt wretched for what he had done to her. She had given herself to him wholly, had allowed him to take her virginity, and he, in the end, had been destructive and utterly careless with her heart.

He climbed the stairs quickly, eager to see her. But when he reached the landing, he noticed that Brienne’s door was wide open. A sense of dread stilled his step. He moved slowly now, a creeping knowledge growing in his mind. The studio was empty - no canvases, no paint, no brushes. The shelving gone. He walked to the apartment. Again, only the furniture remained. No clothes, no dishes, no pictures on the wall, no books. No trace of Brienne. She had fled and gone. Jaime felt hollow and shocked. He laughed at himself. Gods, did he expect her to stay in this studio, above his, after he’d broken her heart? It was ridiculous that he would consider that was a possibility. He had truly lost Brienne, every lovely piece of her. He wanted to weep.

He walked around. She had stripped the sheets off the bed and left the mattress lonely looking and bare. Here was where he’d slept for the last couple of months. Here was where he was happy. He noticed the dining table now - his heart stopped. On top was a canvas, face down. An envelope. He turned the canvas around and saw what was likely the last thing she painted in her studio. A farewell. He nearly dropped it when he saw it. His heart wanted to burst; his chest literally hurt. It was unlike anything he had seen Brienne paint before; it wasn’t abstract colour or lines, but the portrait of a man - of _Jaime_ \- his golden hair, his green eyes, his strong jaw and chin. It was perfect likeness, and he looked _happy_. He knew that it was the face he made when he looked adoringly at Brienne. If he had seen that painting without knowing who it was, he would have said the man in the painting was happy, hopeful, and completely in love. The painting grew blurry then, as his eyes filled with unshed tears. 

His fingers scrambled for the envelope and tore it open. In it, a handwritten note, and it occurred to Jaime that he had no idea until now what Brienne’s handwriting looked. She printed the note in block letters, neat but written in an artistic hand. It read:

_Dear Jaime,_

_This final painting I hope fulfills our rental agreement. This was the face that you showed the most to me during my stay here, and I am grateful to have seen it so often. May your new life bring you much happiness._

_Jaime, I will always be thankful for your assistance in my development as an artist. You gave me the means with which to paint, and for that I will forever be grateful._

_You are a brilliant artist and am glad to have known you these past months._

_Respectfully,_

_Brienne Tarth._

It was all too much. Her formality, her gratefulness, her graciousness, as if they had not spent half their time entwined in each other’s limbs and fucking the nights away. Jaime dragged himself to the bed and lay down, still clutching the letter. He wanted to sleep. He sniffed the pillows, wanting to smell any trace of Brienne, but didn’t find her anywhere. He closed his eyes, a part of him wishing he could relive those last two months of his life, before Cersei told him about Tommen, before the disaster of Robert’s death. He stared at the letter, willing a new meaning to come out from the neatly written words. His eyes grew heavy and he closed his eyes.

=====

Brienne hadn’t cried when Jaime told her that he was engaged to Cersei and was going to play at happy families with her and his natural son; she hadn’t cried when he left, or when she was packing her things; not when she had written the goodbye note, not when she had phoned Olenna to tell her that she was moving somewhere else. But when Jon flung open his door for her and he simply pulled her into his arms and called her name ever so softly, his voice full of genuine care, only then did she collapse into him and started to sob. She cried so hard that she could feel his body shaking in reaction to the violence of her tears. He just held her tighter and led her to the couch and cradled her and rocked her until the worst of the storm passed. 

When she finally pulled away she saw that his grey t-shirt was soaked.

“Gods, I ruined your t-shirt,” Brienne sniffed. He handed her a box of tissues which she gratefully accepted.

He looked down, amused. “What? This old thing?” And suddenly he threw his t-shirt over this head, taking it off entirely and flinging it to a corner, leaving him entirely bare chested. Smiling, he ran his hand through his hair and posed comically, making sure all his ab muscles were visible.

Brienne burst out laughing, and gods suddenly it was all so funny and she couldn’t stop until she was crying now from laughter. Jon quickly joined her, as they crumbled on the couch, their shoulders touching. Her ribs hurt. Slowly their laughter subsided into little gasps.

Jon sat up. “I should be insulted, you know.” He said in a mock hurt tone. “It took hard work to get these muscles.” Brienne guffawed. He chuckled and went to his bedroom and returned wearing a black t-shirt. 

“Jon, you must be the vainest main I’ve ever met,” Brienne said, smiling fondly at him. She finally looked around and noticed that all of his easels and paint materials had been moved to the living room.

He noticed her looking and took her hand, leading her to the spare room that had been his studio. In the couple days since she had asked him if she could crash at his place for a few nights, Jon had cleared the spare room for her use. There was a bed, a work table, and lots of room to set up a tiny studio.

“Jon. You didn’t have to!” Brienne said, her voice awed.

He shrugged. “I know. Look, Brienne, I know you said you were just staying for a couple of days...but if you wanted to stay longer, you could.” He looked at her shyly. “I mean to say that I’d love to have you as a roommate, for the long term. It’d be almost like art school again, us painting side by side, but this time, we’d be in working separate rooms for once.”

She flung herself at him and hugged him in gratefulness. “Thank you Jon. You’re the best.”

He looked at her with warm eyes. “Well I’m glad I get to have my best friend all to myself.”

She slumped on the bed, sitting against the headboard, and Jon joined her. She heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming, Jon. I feel so stupid. _Of course_ he would go back to Cersei. I mean, just look at her.”

“Listen, Brienne.” Jon looked at her kindly. “It’s not about you. Some people are just in fucked up dynamics that they can’t escape. If it’s any consolation, he fooled me too into thinking he was serious about you.”

“I guess I don’t blame him. He was offered something he’s wanted for decades. Who would say no to that?” She twisted the blankets beside her. 

“Well, if you ask me, he’s the fool for letting you go. According to all of my clients, Cersei is a real nasty piece of work. I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.” He took her hand and stroked it.

“There’s Tommen, who seems really sweet. Jaime gets to be a real dad now, I guess.”

Jon shrugged. “I guess. But it was badly done. He shouldn’t have hurt you the way he did.”

Brienne sighed and looked at Jon, her eyes wide. “Jon, I think I’m done with love. I don’t want that anymore.”

Jon chuckled. “Oh Brienne, I don’t think that’s true for you at all. There is too much love in you not to love.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m done with romance. I’d rather have friendships. And art.”

“Luckily for you, you can have as much of both as you want here.” Jon grinned. Brienne smiled a sad smile, and gave Jon a kiss on the cheek, placing an arm around him. He sighed and snuggled closer on the bed.


	13. THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the response about the last chapter was amazing, passionate, and thoughtful. Thank you, each and every one of you. Sorry for the pain - it gets better from there, at least I hope so! ❤️ Also, thanks for all your comments and kudos so far - they make me so happy!

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Margaery was irate and nervous about the evening; Jaime could see it by the way she twitched at the sight of everyone who came through the door and by the way she kept flipping her brown curls. Her smile was a little too wide to be comfortable. Olenna was also making a rare appearance this evening, dressed in a black and green silk brocade caftan, colourful bracelets down both her wrists. She sat in the corner, eyeing the room.

The show, titled _Paradise Redeemed_ , was the fruit of four long months of organization by the Tyrells. They had started arranging the tour of the paintings, but things quickly fell apart when their two artist collaborators could no longer work together. Negotiations between Jaime and Brienne were done separately; not that things were bad between them rather than non-existent, Jaime thought. He sometimes wished that Brienne were angry and hostile, but she merely had no time for him in the last four months and acted as if he had completely disappeared from her life. So Olenna dealt with Brienne and Margaery with Jaime, and a deal was worked out; all four of the parties would be getting a great deal of money from the tour - more than if they had sold the paintings outright, he thought. 

Brienne was expected at the opening night of the show at the Roseheart Gallery, but she had yet to arrive. Jaime had not seen Brienne since the day he told her about him and Cersei, not that he tried to contact her in any way. He felt awful and guilty and figured it would be best if he were out of her life for good. He had heard through Margaery that she was living in an apartment near Flea Bottom, and that she was painting a great deal, losing herself in work. Everything else about her life remained a mystery.

He, on the other hand, had been trying to build a life with Cersei and Tommen. At Cersei’s insistence, Jaime had moved in with the two of them at her apartment, where all traces of Robert had been swiftly removed after his death; Jaime rented out his downtown apartment but still kept the studio, but he sometimes slept in the apartment upstairs when he worked too late into the night. Of course, being there reminded him of Brienne, but those months with her seemed to him an incredible, distant dream now. A dream of another life, of another man - the kind of man that Jaime wished he could be but clearly wasn’t.

Jaime spent a lot of time getting Tommen to be comfortable with him as a parent; the boy seemed unused to the idea that an adult would care about what he thought and wanted, and was a little suspicious that all of a sudden ‘Uncle Jaime’ was living with them and staying in his mom’s rooms. Tommen and Robert weren’t close, but the boy still suddenly lost the only father he had known. 

Jaime’s paternity of Tommen was confirmed by a DNA test, and it was a difficult afternoon when Jaime and Cersei had to tell the boy that Jaime was his biological father. There were tears and anger and a little bit of uncharacteristic screaming, and Jaime had to placate the boy by buying him a real kitten, much to Cersei’s disapproval. But soon enough, Tommen began to voluntarily spend time with Jaime, and talk to him about his cat and all the things on his mind. Jaime observed that the boy seemed nervous around his mother, afraid to do or say the wrong thing, but he was glad that he had come to trust him at last. Jaime felt his broken heart heal and grow a little when Tommen started calling him ‘dad’. He wanted the boy to trust him and he always wanted to be there for him, no matter what.

Things with Cersei were more difficult; after a few half-hearted attempts at therapy, Cersei abruptly quit, declaring the therapist said nothing she didn’t already know. She continued to drink, and as ever, became erratic and impulsive when she was drunk. She was frustrated at the pharmaceutical company at work, and railed at the ‘idiots’ that always wanted to follow the rules at the expense of making money. Jaime still thought she was beautiful, but she often pushed him away as much as she drew him in with her seductions. After sex, she would turn her back to him. She squirmed away when he tried to hold her in his arms, saying she was too used to Robert sleeping in a separate bedroom and would need time to get used to sharing a bed with another person. None of this was a surprise to Jaime of course, but he still had hoped that she would change.

Their engagement made the front page of the gossip rags and websites. “ _Dashing Artist Jaime Lannister Goes Back to His First Love_ ” one headline read; another declared _“Jaime Lannister Keeps It in the Family with His Cousin and Look-Alike, Cersei Lannister._ ” Most stories framed their romance as old flames rekindling a lost love, conveniently forgetting about Tommen or how Cersei was only very recently widowed. In another story, cousin Lancel was quoted, much to Cersei’s rage, as saying he had been her lover, though he was only nineteen at the time. If Lancel were to be believed, she had promised that she would leave Robert to be with him. Cersei had laughed at that, telling Jaime with a seductive smile that she had only slept with Lancel because he so reminded her of Jaime, and because she had missed him so much. Jaime found that hard to believe, considering he had not actually gone anywhere at the time.

All in all, Jaime found his new life exhausting. Cersei was spending money as soon as he could make it, and he found himself doing more modeling gigs and advertisements, as they were easy money for very little work. As for painting, he found himself blocked, unable to approach the blank canvas. He was out of ideas. This, of the recent developments, bothered him most of all; painting for him had always been so easy, and had been his refuge and escape from the difficulties of life. But now, it just became another problem. 

He had to admit to himself that he found it difficult to love Cersei. He had to work very hard at loving her and needed to remind himself of their good times over the years just to make it through another day with her. He found that living with her every day exposed to him her vanity, insecurities, pettiness and lack of imagination. But Tommen was in his life now, and he knew the boy had grown to love him, as Jaime did him. The boy had already lost one father, and Jaime was determined not to be another man who left him fatherless. He wanted the three of them to be a family, but it was turning out to be a family of two with him and Tommen and without Cersei.

Oh, Cersei herself could be sweet and generous when she wanted something from him; when she bestowed him with her smile, it made Jaime’s heart sigh with relief. She had even come to the opening night of the exhibit, dressed in a gold gown that enhanced her bust and flared out at the waist. She was beautiful, standing with Taena, looking at one of the paintings with narrowed eyes and sipping a glass of red wine. 

Jaime noticed a commotion at the door. Margaery strode quickly toward the crowd and pulled Brienne into the room. He had to draw in a breath when he saw her. She was altogether different - sexier, dressed in a long, asymmetrical black gown that clung to her body and had an indecently high slit that showed off a very long, very toned leg. She wore black stiletto heels that made her a head or two taller than most of the people there. She looked amazing, and Jaime felt a harsh pang in his chest. Besides the way she dressed, she seemed more confident and in control. She looked around the room and stopped when she saw Jaime. She nodded, smiling slightly. Jaime saw Jon now, following quickly at her heels, a full head shorter than her. The dark-haired man grabbed her hand, and she looked down at him gratefully, and there seemed to pass between them something that made Jaime’s chest ache even more. 

Margaery was leading Brienne toward him now. Jaime stood straighter, and willed his aching heart to stop its nonsense. Finally, they stood face to face; even he had to look up, as Brienne was a few inches taller in her heels. It was hard to take her all in – her stature, the newfound confidence, her bare shoulders and arms – he was sure he was gawping and looking at her in awe.

“Jaime. It’s good to see you.” She said blandly. Her face was a wall, revealing nothing but mild pleasantness. He wished that she would rage at him. It was what he deserved, after all. 

“It’s been a long time, Brienne. You look beautiful” He searched her eyes, which were still blue and lovely, for some emotion or sadness. He found none. She seemed a little remote, untouchable.

She smiled at him. Olenna joined them now. “Gods, finally, you two are in the same room together. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She looked back and forth at them. “You’re going to have to say a few words, both of you. Try to pretend you like each other for five minutes. Then you can go off in your separate corners.” She gave them a wry look.

A group had gathered around them now, sensing an important moment had come. Olenna stepped up, microphone in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the opening of what is promised to be a truly revolutionary show. _Paradise Redeemed_ is a unique collaboration between two artists: the famous - or dare I say _infamous_ \- bad boy artist Jaime Lannister, and the emerging but extraordinarily talented young artist Brienne Tarth. The fourteen paintings that you see displayed all around this gallery are a result of true collaboration - the two artists painted on the same canvas, at the same time, each one reacting to the brushstrokes of the other, to create this passionate record of creativity and life. Together, they have created a style of their own, a truly masterful work. Tonight is just the beginning for these paintings. After the show here at Roseheart, the exhibition will tour the top modern art galleries all over Westeros, to return to King’s Landing in a significant show at the King’s Landing Museum of Modern Art. It’s important to note that these paintings are not for sale. Indeed, in this instance, the joy indeed is truly in the looking.”

There was thunderous applause. “Now, a few words from the artists.” Olenna gave the microphone to Jaime. He smiled broadly and looked around. “Thank you all for coming to the very first showing of this very special exhibit. As you notice, these paintings are far from my usual work, and when they emerged, they were a complete surprise. I owe their existence to my artistic partner, Brienne Tarth, who was the spark that set the project aflame. You will also soon know her solo work. She is truly one of the most talented artists I’ve ever had the privilege to meet or work with.”

Brienne nodded and smiled brightly at Jaime as she took the microphone from him. “Thank you, Jaime. I am very proud to be here today, and I’d never thought I’d get to be in this position, at my very first show, and at such a legendary Gallery, no less! I look at these paintings now, and they speak of a rare and magical time when all was right and perfect. I was the recipient of Jaime’s generosity and was lucky enough to actually paint with him. It was a dream. What emerged from our brushes was truly something that will never be recreated. And looking around at the paintings, at you all here now, I feel as if I’d finally woken up to find that this is all real.”

There was more applause and cheers, then he and Brienne had to pose together for pictures. He dared not put his arm around her, so they stood side by side, awkward but smiling. 

A dashingly dark and handsome man, elegantly dressed entirely in black, approached them.

“Jaime Lannister. I’d never thought you’d break free from your usual signature style.” The man looked around, clearly impressed by the display of canvases that surrounded them. “It’s unusual for you.”

“Oberyn. Thank you for coming.” Jaime was about to continue the conversation, but the man pointedly turned toward Brienne and was looking at her with keen interest.

Jaime felt a rise of irritation. He cleared his throat. “Oberyn, this is Brienne Tarth. Brienne, Oberyn Martell. He’s an old family friend.”

Brienne smiled, a rosy blush suffusing her cheeks. “Oberyn. I am a long-time admirer of your work - your photographs are beautiful and so moving.”

The dark-haired man bowed and took her hand and kissed it. Jaime wanted to laugh. Did he think he was in a 1930’s tinsel town movie? Brienne, for her part, seemed entranced, however. Jaime felt a wave of protectiveness for the woman standing beside him. She surely had no idea about the man’s notorious reputation with women.

“And I am in awe of your talent. These paintings stir feelings of passion and love in me. I’ve truly never seen the like. And I know a lot of it is you, as Jaime has never strayed from his lane.” Oberyn’s eyes glittered in amusement.

Brienne smiled and shook her head, giving Jaime a mild look. “Oh no. I believe it is a true collaboration. What emerged was truly a once-in-a-lifetime burst of creativity, I think.”

“Ah, then I would love to see your solo work, Brienne.” He offered her his arm. “I wonder if you could talk to me about the painting over there?” With a smile, Oberyn nodded to Jaime as he led her away to the furthest corners of the gallery. Jaime felt his irritation grow as he watched them walk away.

“Looks like your ex-girlfriend has found a very charming new acquaintance in the form of Oberyn Martell,” Tyrion said, coming up to him and offering him a flute of champagne. Jaime took the glass and downed it in one go, the bubbles burning his throat. 

Tyrion continued. “Oberyn Martell has actually always been one of my heroes when it comes to seducing women. He does it in such an artful way: he fully satisfies them, never leaves hard feelings, and he remains good friends with them afterwards. Unlike _some_ other people I know.”

Jaime glared at his brother. “Tyrion. What do I care what Oberyn does with Brienne? It’s none of my business.”

Tyrion gave him a smile. “Quite right. It is very much none of your business. So I would advise you stop staring at the very sexy Brienne and look to your fiancé and son instead.”

Jaime sighed, knowing his brother was right - he had no claim to her now, if he ever did. He had made his choice, and he could not regret it. He looked at Cersei, who was talking to Taena and a sharp-faced brown haired man wearing black leather pants. Tommen was sitting on the floor below a painting, playing with plastic figurines on the floor with Shireen. He was surprised that Stannis came; he must have been in town for business, Jaime figured.

The opening seemed to be a success; the gallery was full and from what he could tell, the paintings were met with near rapturous enthusiasm. The press was buzzing, and there was a great feeling of anticipation in the air, as there always was with exciting, new shows. However, Jaime had not expected that seeing the paintings again would be so painful. It brought him back to those weeks of fucking and painting, and how he had never felt so fulfilled in all his life. He had flashes of Brienne - her eyes, her pale, freckled skin, the warm of her hands on him, her moans and cries.

He took another flute of champagne and drank.

=====

Brienne nearly skipped the opening of her very own show. If it weren’t for Asha dressing her and Jon’s reassurances, she would have ordered delivery, put on a TV show, and stayed in her pajamas the entire night. But she had bought a new dress - thanks to the advice of Margaery and Asha, and she had to admit that she felt different, more confident, even sexy, in the sleeveless black dress that showed off one of her legs. She remembered Jon’s face when he saw her - it was filled with a raw hunger and she was sure if Asha weren’t around, he would have sprawled her on the bed, rucked up her black dress, and ate her out until she came at least twice.

She found that living with Jon had its benefits. They were best friends, fast friends, and he had comforted her in the tough few weeks after Jaime had broken up with her. They painted in separate rooms during the day, and ate together, watched reality shows and fantasy shows together in his bedroom, often falling asleep together on Jon’s bed.

One day, he told her he’d finished the portrait of her. That was the night things shifted between them. When he showed her the painting, she couldn’t help staring at the canvas, painted with Jon’s preferred bright, primary colours. It was her, to be sure, sitting up eagerly and looking at the viewer. Jon had captured all of her qualities - her length, the angles of her face, her crooked nose and large mouth, but he made her look - and she barely had the word for it - just _lovely_. Her face was animated, alive, welcoming, and her eyes looked truly wondrous.

“Jon, this is-” she was at a loss for words. Jon stared at her intently.

“This is how I see you, Brienne.” He said quietly. 

“But I look so, so - bright and alive.” Brienne turned to him. “You really see me like this?”

Brienne felt something inside of her crumble: one of the walls that she had started to build around her heart to replace the hurt that Jaime had inflicted upon her. She hadn’t thought that anyone besides Jaime would see the real her, but here was the evidence before her, that it may have not been a rare, one off thing, exclusive to Jaime. She looked at Jon, and noticed how he looked at her with such affection, and she threw her arms around him and suddenly kissed him. He started in surprise but eased into the kiss almost immediately, drawing her body close with his strong arms. Jon’s lips were soft and warm and plump, and she was surprised how good they felt kissing her.

When they ended the kiss, they simply stared at each other, dumbfounded. Jon’s eyes were nearly black and wide in disbelief, and his expression was one of hunger. Brienne’s insides felt warm, and a longing pooled in her belly. The desire surprised her.

“Jon,” Brienne whispered, his face coming closer to hers.

“Hmmm?” Jon murmured, as he was nudging her hair and neck, his hot breath on her skin.

“Do you remember saying you’d fuck me if you had the choice?”

“Yes,” Jon whispered in her ear, sending shivers up her spine. 

“Would you?” Brienne ran her hands through his curls.

“Gods, yes,” Jon growled, pulling her into a kiss once again.

The way they were with each other was completely different from what she had with Jaime; with Jaime it was a rare, incendiary love, where everything was passionate and wild. But what she had with Jon was easy, comfortable, playful, and they completely satisfied each other in bed. Jon was sensitive to her needs and talented, especially with his mouth. Their relationship was not a _relationship_ per se, as their friendship remained unchanged; the only difference is that they would fuck each other’s brains out every once in a while and sleep in the same bed when the mood hit. To Brienne, there was little risk of her heart going the same way it did with Jaime. Of course, she and Jon loved each other, but it was more friendship with sex thrown into the mix. Jon seemed happy with the arrangement as Brienne was. He was, after all, nursing a love wound of his own from Ygritte leaving. They needed each other in that way, and so were able to help each other. Neither of them wanted another serious relationship, so it was natural that they turned to each other for physical and emotional comfort. To be with Jon seemed natural and so easy, unlike her experience with Jaime.

Brienne had found being in the gallery – seeing the paintings on the walls, seeing Jaime again – to be all overwhelming. But Jon was there to steady her, and Magaery swooped in to stop her nerves and basically told her where to stand and what to do. It was reassuring. 

Brienne had prepared herself for the impact of seeing Jaime in person. It was something she had avoided in the last four months in order to protect her heart, and she was sure she made the lives of the two Tyrell women a nightmare in trying to arrange a collaborative show in which one artist didn’t want to see the other. And yet, she had no choice but to protect herself, not wanting the stitches she had put in place to tear open. So when she saw Jaime, _finally_ , there was an initial rush of longing, but she was able to immediately put that away and faced him as a normal colleague would: cordial, polite, pleasant, no clues to the storms that were beneath that facade. It helped that Cersei and Tommen were there, and Cersei’s glittering beauty made her even more resolved. She felt that she must have been mad if she ever thought she had a chance against the breathtaking beauty of Cersei.

She was thankful when the famous photographer Oberyn Martell had approached her and taken her away to talk. She knew his work as a long-time war photographer turned visual artist. She had loved his recent works about abandoned hospitals, which contained the immediacy of the moment but invited the viewer into a thoughtfulness that was rare in photography. She was surprised and flattered that he was at the show. He had a flirtatious manner, of course, as it seemed his natural mode, and she could not help but be charmed by him. But there was something sincere about Oberyn - he seemed truly fascinated by her and even attracted to her.

“You must come to Dorne,” he was saying, his eyes roaming over the expanse of skin of her bare arms and shoulders. “My paramour Ellaria would love to meet you.”

She looked at him noncommittally. Oberyn smiled at her charmingly. “In any case, I would love to photograph you, Brienne Tarth. You have a most interesting face. Your figure is powerful, sexy. Your eyes are what angels sing about.”

She stared, disbelieving. “Oberyn, I’m hardly a model-”

He gave her a crooked smile. “And why would I want to photograph a model when I could photograph an artist that is at the beginning of her ascent? You are more interesting than all of the models in King’s Landing combined. Those long legs of yours need to be captured on film. I would be honoured if you’d allow me the honour.” He paused. “And it would be strictly professional...unless you don’t want it to be.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. He shrugged. “We do things differently in Dorne. We don’t possess our lovers. We share them. Ellaria would like you. She would even like me being with you without her involvement, if that is your preference.” Oberyn pressed his card into her palm. 

“My number. Call me any time, day or night. I’m at your disposal.” He kissed her hand. “At least, allow me to photograph you, Brienne. I rarely beg, but I am very much begging you now. I would be on my knees right now, but I’m afraid it would embarrass you too much.” He gave her a feral smile.

With a gentlemanly bow, he turned and left her, leaving her practically gaping. She turned toward a painting to settle her surprised reaction to his interesting proposal. 

“Did you paint these with my dad?” A small voice called out to her from below. She looked down and was startled to see a little boy, his head full of blonde curls, his green eyes looking at her curiously. Tommen. Gods, he looked so much like Jaime. 

“Are you Tommen?” Brienne smiled down at him.

He nodded and smiled, revealing very cute dimples in his cheeks.

“I’m Brienne. It’s nice to meet you.”

She lifted her dress up a little, so she could crouch on the floor so they were of the same height. “And yes, painted these with your dad a few months ago.”

“Oh. That was before he came to live with my mom.” Brienne nodded.

Tommen smiled at her shyly again. “These paintings are pretty. I haven’t really seen my dad paint yet though.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. And I’ve been at his studio and everything.” He squinted at her. “You must be really talented. You painted the picture of my dad that’s in his studio, didn’t you? That’s what he said when I asked.”

“I guess I did,” Brienne said evenly. He had kept the painting after all. A part of her was relieved. 

“Do you paint cats? Will you paint a portrait of Ser Pounce for me? He’s my one true love.” His green eyes were wide and imploring.

“Ser Pounce is a cat?” Brienne frowned, puzzled. 

“Yup. See?” Tommen took out a phone. “Here, here’s a picture of him on my dad’s phone.” With expertise of someone who is _very_ used to technology, he pulled up a picture of an adorable black cat with a white star on its chest and a patch of white around his nose. “Isn’t he cute?”

Brienne nodded, bemused and delighted. 

“Will you paint him for me? I can trade you for it. Or ask dad for my allowance early.”

She laughed. “No need, Tommen. I’d be happy to paint such a distinguished looking cat. It would be an honour.”

Tommen smiled brightly. “Ser Pounce is a knight, you see. He rescues maidens.” He looked down at the phone. “I’ll email pictures to you. Here. Type your email here.”

Brienne did as she was told, noting that this little boy seemed much too familiar with Jaime’s phone. 

“Okay,” he said, looking down. “I sent it.” 

He looked up at her shyly, colour in his cheeks. “You’re pretty, did you know that?”

“What?” Brienne could barely contain her surprise.

Tommen tilted his head and examined her. “Not like my mom. But you’re nice and kind. That makes you prettier than her.” He looked at her carefully. “Your eyes are very blue. I wish I had blue eyes like yours.”

She shook her head. “But Tommen, your eyes are very beautiful too. And you have lovely green eyes. Plus, I think you’re very cute.”

He giggled, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for Ser Pounce’s portrait, Brienne.”

“Tommen, are you bothering Brienne?” Jaime came up to them, his eyes fondly looking at his son, his gaze moving warmly to her. Brienne quickly scrambled up to standing.

“Nuh-uh, dad. I was just showing her pictures of Ser Pounce, that’s all.” Tommen showed his dad his dimples. 

Jaime searched his pockets. “Oh, right. My phone, Tommen.” The boy gave his father back his phone.

He hugged his dad’s waist, smiled brightly at Brienne, and practically skipped away.

“He’s adorable,” Brienne said warmly.

Jaime coloured, his cheeks lightly pink, and nodded. “Yes, I’m lucky that I get to be in his life.”

She nodded. They both paused awkwardly. “I’m glad to see that all this has worked out for you, Jaime. You deserve happiness.”

Jaime stared at her, silent. “Brienne, I’m sorry-”

Brienne shook her head, sighing. “ _Don’t_ \- just don’t. It’s over, and we are both where we belong. No use in revisiting the past, though I’m sure being around these paintings one can’t help remembering certain things.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other once again, maybe at another opening. I wish you all the best, Jaime.”

She felt a warm arm hug her waist, and she turned, seeing the handsome form of Jon materialize beside her. She exhaled in relief. He smiled at her and nodded coldly at Jaime. 

“Ready to go home?” Jon said in her ear, his arm tightening around her. She nodded, leaning into him.

She reached out a hand toward Jaime for a handshake, and he mutely shook it. 

“Goodbye, Jaime. It was good to see you.”

“Goodbye Brienne,” he said, and Brienne could feel his eyes following her and Jon as they walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder, imagine the collaborative paintings as being similar in feel to a Henri Rousseau jungle, but with wilder, more passionate paint strokes: <https://www.wikiart.org/en/henri-rousseau>  
> 


	14. FOURTEEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Margaery, dressed in a sharp green blazer and jeans and carrying a paper wrapped package, blazed past him and barged into his studio, her critical eyes roaming over the empty canvases, the pristine brushes and clean palettes. Her eyes spotted Tommen colouring on the work table, sitting on a tall stool.

“Margaery, I didn’t expect you,” Jaime said, regarding the woman curiously.

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood, running some errands.”

“Considering the show having just opened, I don’t see why you should be here checking up on me.” Jaime’s voice was wry and defensive. He felt a headache coming on.

“Hmmmm, there isn’t much to check up on, is there, Jaime.” She turned to him, frowning. “Have you even drawn or painted anything in the last four months? Since those paintings with Brienne?”

“Gods, Margaery.” Jaime ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Will you give me a break? Things have been crazy.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’ve been busy with your _wedding_ plans,” she said lightly, knowing full well that nothing was happening on that front. She smiled again. “But that is not exactly the reason I’m here. I’m not actually here to nag you, you know, though it has been a pleasant and informative side mission. I’m here for….” she paused, and turned to his son. “Tommen.”

The young boy looked up at the sound of his name and regarded Margaery with skepticism. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes at the woman. 

“I’m here to make a special delivery to...Tommen Baratheon Lannister,” Margaery said, reading off the package she was holding.

Tommen squirmed in excitement in his seat, his eyes growing wide, eagerly reaching out his hands.

He tore open the package, just as excited as he would have been if this were Sevenmas day, and squealed and yelled in joy as he ripped the brown paper.

Jaime stepped closer, curious, and saw that his son was holding a painting, namely a portrait of Tommen’s cat, Ser Pounce, all in his regal black and white glory. It was a meticulous job, and he could see the care of the individual brushstrokes of the feline’s fur. Jaime felt his breath being knocked out of him from the sight of it. Those brushstrokes, the lines, he knew the hand. _Brienne._

“That’s right,” Margaery looked at him with keen fascination. He realized that he must have gasped her name out loud, not just in his head. “You know her work well, it seems. I wouldn’t have, nor would have Olenna, I think. But I notice it is very similar to the portrait she painted of you over there,” she said, nodded her head toward the portrait that he had hung on the nearby wall.

“Brienne said she’d paint Ser Pounce for me and she did, dad! I thought she forgot but I think it just takes a long time to make a painting. It’s perfect!” Tommen happily cried, staring at the painting and hugging it to his little chest.

“You _asked_ her to do this for you, Tommen?” Jaime asked, staring at his happy son. 

He nodded. “Yup. She was really nice and pretty. I like her a lot.”

Jaime hardly knew what to say, but he felt like someone was pressing at a painful bruise and wouldn’t stop. The fact that someone was his little son was somehow appropriate.

Tommen hopped down and walked toward the wall on which hung Jaime’s portrait. “Can we hang it here? With your picture, dad?”

Jaime frowned. “Don’t you want to hang it in your room so you can see it all the time?”

The boy shook his head. “Mom wouldn’t like it. I’d rather have it here, so it’ll be safe.”

Margaery threw Jaime a sharp glance. “I think it looks perfect right there, Tommen.”

She turned him. “Jaime, Olenna says that you might have a couple of Brienne’s paintings here with you - do you think I can see them, so I can report back?”

Jaime nodded, leading her up the stairs. The paintings hung in the upstairs apartment, where he sometimes slept when Cersei was particularly upset with him, or when he stayed at the studio too late.

Margaery’s eyes flashed. “Grandmother wants to buy these paintings from you. She wants to add them to her collection, and perhaps add them to the show of Brienne’s works when the time comes.”

“They’re not for sale-”

“She’s willing to offer you a more than fair price-”

“I said they’re not for sale. Not under any circumstances,” Jaime growled. The woman gave him a surprised look. “And if Brienne gets a show, I’d be happy to lend her the pieces for it, but I’m in no way selling them.”

She smiled smugly. “Understood. I’ll convey your answer to her. Though I’m sure she’ll take you up on the offer of loaning the paintings for a show.”

They went downstairs, and thank gods, Margaery made gestures to go. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not even offered the woman any refreshment.

Nonetheless, she seemed as unfazed as ever. She paused before the portrait of Jaime, looking at it carefully.

“This portrait of you, Jaime. It certainly looks like you and captures your essence, but I’ve never seen that expression on you before, and I’ve known you for some years now.” Margaery tilted her head at him. “Well, except that one time. When you and Brienne came in to show your joint paintings. Your face was exactly like that, you know, every time you looked at her.”

It took every ounce of self-control he had in him not to slam the front door when she left. He was riled up. He felt like a puddle that had just been trampled upon. Repeatedly.

Tommen came up to him and handed him the portrait of Per Pounce. According to his son’s instructions, Jaime hung it next to his own portrait. The sight made him want to weep.

=====

Jaime walked slowly among the portraits at the Davos Gallery in the hip Flea Bottom neighbourhood, all painted in bright colours, lending the faces an impressionistic yet realistic aspect. They were all accomplished, each portrait fully exploring and revealing the whole person. It was rather fascinating, how Jon Snow seemed to capture the entire nature of the person, how when you look at one portrait, you immediately know what kind of person they were, if you’d like them, if you’d even want to be friends with them. Snow certainly had a keen eye and hand; Jaime was impressed.

But it was one particular painting that stopped him in his tracks. It was Brienne, sitting on a chair with her bare legs crossed in front of her, the length of her shins long and impressive. She wore a dark blue tank top that revealed the contours of her breasts and the faintest outlines of her nipples, her arms draped playfully in front of her. But it was her face that nearly stopped his heart. She was bright and happy and joy radiated from her beautiful blue eyes. The most astonishing eyes. Her mouth held the hint of a smile. He stared and stared. This was Brienne, all of her, right in front of him.

“I knew you’d be in front of this painting if you came to the show,” Jon said, coming up beside him.

“Jon,” Jaime tore his eyes away to look at the amused looking young man. “The show is impressive. Your paintings are wonderful. But _this_ one.”

“I know,” Jon mused, looking at the painting with affectionate eyes. “It’s my greatest work so far. Or perhaps I just think that because I know her so well.”

“I’d like to buy it,” Jaime said seriously. “Name your price.”

Jon laughed, his grey eyes crinkling up with merriment. “As tempting as that offer sounds, I’m afraid I’m keeping this one, Jaime.” He patted his back lightly. “Besides, I don’t think she’d want you to have this hanging on your wall, considering what you did to her six months ago.”

Jaime gave the man a sharp look. Jon shrugged.

“If you want to commission work from me, I can paint a picture of Cersei for you. Though I don’t think it would have the same effect, considering the subject,” Jon said lightly.

Jaime scowled, but restrained himself. He could only imagine what Cersei’s portrait would look like if it captured her true nature, he thought morosely. 

“Is she here? At your opening?” Jaime had looked around, but could not find her distinctive figure anywhere.

“Ah. I suppose that’s why you came.” Jon chuckled. “She flew to Dorne today. There was a private opening last night, and she came to that. We celebrated privately after.” Jon said smugly. Jaime felt more than a tiny urge to punch the young man in the nose.

“Why is she going to Dorne?” Jaime asked oh-so casually.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.” Jon said, frowning.

Jaime furrowed his brow. There was something that he’d wondered since he saw Brienne at the opening two months ago, but he ignored it until now. 

“Jon. Answer me this - are you and Brienne together now? I hear you’re living together. Are you roommates or is it something more?”

Jon sighed. “Look Jaime, I don’t know what you’re doing, asking after Brienne like that. You probably already know that we live together. As for the other, I’m one hundred percent sure it’s none of your business. If she wants you to know anything about her personal life, I’m sure she would tell you.”

Jon inclined his head. “Thank you for coming, even though it’s in the guise of wanting to run into Brienne. I owe you for introducing me to the upper echelons of King’s Landing society - their business has given me the means and time to paint these works.” 

He paused and looked at Jaime with a perceptive glance. “My advice to you is to forget about Brienne, as she has tried to forget you.”

Jaime stared at Jon, feeling both defeated and angry.

“Oh yes,” Jon said, turning back. “Give my regards to Cersei and your family.”

=====

He had given it six months. Six long months to see if things would work with Cersei, and gods, he had tried. He agreed to her every demand and whim, sold himself and his image to watch companies and clothing designers and even a bourbon brand, all so she could maintain the lifestyle she wanted, despite the fact that she was filthy rich from inheriting Robert’s money. They had little in common beyond their childhoods and their sexual chemistry, which, in truth, had petered out long ago. He had moved into Robert’s old room two months previous, with Cersei saying she wouldn’t be able to adjust to sharing a bed with another. In all honesty, it was no hardship for him to be in his own room; beyond their childhoods, he and Cersei had little in common and even less to talk about. Jaime wondered sometimes why she even wanted him back in the first place. She had barely tried in their relationship, except for the fact that she helped Jaime and Tommen facilitate their bond quite easily. In fact, Jaime had taken over looking after Tommen after the nanny had been let go, after Cersei had found some absurd fault with her. He picked his son up from school, and took him to the studio when Jaime went to work. Cersei was busy with the pharmaceutical business, and seemed obsessed with creating the next multi-billion dollar drug with her creepy scientist hire, Dr. Qyburn.

Yet he could not entirely regret going back to Cersei, as the act had given him Tommen. The boy was the light of his life, and was the reason Jaime hadn’t yet crumpled into a crying ball of depressive despair. But at night the loneliness came, even though his fiancé was sleeping in the other room. He knew he could not go to her, that he could find no comfort there. When had he ever found comfort in Cersei’s arms except in the brief moments when they were fucking? He didn’t want to remember the last time he felt safe in a woman’s arms, but his traitorous mind went there, to Brienne. How she listened to his confessions without judgement, how she held him and stroked his hair. He wished he were sleeping at the studio, so he could at least be surrounded by her paintings. 

He came back from Jon’s show, exhausted and just wanting to get a drink and fall into bed. He was surprised to find Tommen sitting up, watching TV on the couch. The boy looked at Jaime guiltily as he came in.

“Tommen? Why are you still up? And watching late night TV, no less?”

The boy shrugged. “Mother let me.”

“Did she?” He looked around. “Where is your mother?”

“Oh, she’s upstairs with Uncle Euron. She said if I didn’t bother her I could watch TV and fall asleep on the couch. Don’t worry, Dad, we’ve had this deal before. I usually fall asleep after this show.”

“As you were, cowboy,” Jaime said to his son, who snuggled happily under his blanket.

Jaime made his way slowly upstairs, dread and suspicion jolting his entire body with every step. From the muffled sounds he was hearing as she neared Cersei’s room, he had a fair idea that his dear sister-cousin was up to her old ways. He took a breath and opened the door. His stomach dropped and his heart clenched painfully. There she was, writhing and spread open with a dark-haired man rutting away between her legs, his grunting and her theatrical wails filling the room. In the back of his mind, Jaime wondered if she sounded just as fake when she was fucking _him_. With a sigh, Jaime pulled the slim man off her and threw him on the floor. He looked down, noticing no hint of a condom on the man.

“Hey!” The man protested, red-faced and scrambling to cover his cock.

“Jaime! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be sleeping at your studio tonight!” Cersei quickly covered up with the soiled bed sheets. She looked taken completely by surprise.

“Gods, Cersei. You don’t ever listen, do you? You can’t even get my whereabouts straight so you can cheat on me properly.” Jaime felt weary and couldn’t even be bothered to rage. 

“Euron and I are engaged.” Cersei said, by way of explanation, her voice panicked.

Jaime cocked his head. “Funny. I thought _I_ was engaged to you, sweet cousin.” He shrugged. “Well, no more.” He turned to the man, who was staring at Jaime. “My congratulations to you, _Uncle_ Euron.”

He turned to Cersei. “I’m taking Tommen back to my studio so you can sort out your excuses. We can talk in the morning. Or our lawyers can talk, whichever you prefer.”

“Jaime,” Cersei pleaded, turning suddenly tender. Her voice trembled. He had a sense of deja-vu, to the night when she had come to him crying about Robert. Gods, he was a fool. 

“Goodbye, Cersei.” He smiled a brittle smile at the man, who was tugging on his underwear over his wilted cock. “Good luck, Uncle Euron. You’ll need it.”

=====

“Don’t fucking say it,” Jaime said sullenly into his whisky sour. They met at San Souci, after Jaime dropped Tommen off to his mother. Thankfully, Cersei had the sense to get rid of Uncle fucking Euron before he arrived. From Tommen’s accounts, everytime Jaime slept at the studio, Uncle Euron had come over - apparently this had been going on for more than three months.

“I told you so, brother,” Tyrion cackled, grinning and swigging back a gin martini.

Jaime glared. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“This is what comes from always choosing Cersei: you lose. Well, everyone loses. Especially Tommen in this case. Though I suppose he’ll be gaining Uncle Fucking Euron, so….”

“I’m not giving up Tommen. He’s the only good thing that’s come out of this.”

Tyrion perked his head up. “You’ll ask for custody then? I don’t imagine Cersei would give anything she thinks is hers up so easily. Look at _you_ , for example.”

“What?”

“Brother, the moment you find a girlfriend in Brienne, she swoops in to claim her rights. Isn’t that exactly what happened?”

“No - I mean, Cersei was upset about Robert. She needed me.” Jaime struggled to remember the chain of events. Had it really been like that? And he hadn’t _seen_ through it?

“Gods, you are naive if you still believe that tripe.” Tyrion sniffed.

“She waited eight years to tell you Tommen was your son. Imagine. How strategic she must have been to launch that missile exactly when she needed to. I would admire her if she weren’t so stupid in all other ways.” Tyrion smiled cruelly.

“Well, when we did the DNA test, she put me on legal record as Tommen’s father, so I have that in my favour.” It was one thing that Jaime had insisted on, and Cersei surprisingly had given in to that demand quite easily.

“Good, good. You might end up with partial custody, and that’s not too bad.”

Jaime nodded. “I just want to be a part of Tommen’s life. In any way.”

“I’ll contact Varys about your situation. He’s the best lawyer out there for family matters. Cersei will probably get Baelish, but who knows, maybe she’ll be so caught up with Uncle Fucking Euron and their wedding that she’d happily let you have Tommen part of the time, just so she could fuck the pharmaceutical company and fuck Uncle Euron some more.”

Jaime banged his head on the table and moaned. “I’ve ruined my life. The _one_ time I was ever happy.”

“Ah, I was wondering when we’d come back to the topic of the sexy giantess.” Tyrion chuckled. “You definitely screwed that up, big time. Luckily for her, she seems to be doing quite well without you on all fronts.”

“What do you mean? Do you know if she’s with Jon Snow? They’re living together, aren’t they?”

“Brother, if you are actually asking if you have another chance with her, my advice is to sort your shit out first.” Tyrion looked at him sternly.

Jaime opened his mouth to protest.

“Regardless of whether she and Jon are fucking, and I do hope she is fucking him, because he is quite handsome and seems to adore her, she is much too good for you right now. She’s on the rise, and literally men are falling at her feet to worship her. Not to mention her art. Word is, she’s a fucking genius. To have her future for one still only twenty-three years old. Incredible.”

“Men are _falling_ at her feet?” Jaime echoed dully.

Tyrion huffed. “You think you’re the only one to notice those long legs and extraordinary blue eyes? I know for a fact that Oberyn has been courting her. Hells, even I would have given her a go if she hadn’t fucked my big brother.”

“By the Seven.” Jaime drank the rest of his Sour and ordered a Bee’s Knees. 

“Oh fuck’s sake man,” Tyrion looked at him in disgust at his drink order. “Pull yourself together. Prove to her that you can be a better man. Get rid of that Cersei obsession for good.”

“Oh, that is long gone. I felt I was dying the last few months I was with her, Tyrion. We hadn’t had sex in months-”

“Gods, I actually don’t want to know the details of yours and Cersei’s sex life, so spare me.” He narrowed his eyes at Jaime. “But I swear Jaime, if you ever go back to her again I will throttle you with my bare hands.”

“As if I can ever get rid of the image of Uncle Euron pumping away between her legs.” Jaime said darkly.

“By the Seven, shut the fuck up! How dare you put these nightmarish images into my brain? Geez!” Tyrion stole Jaime’s Bee’s Knees cocktail and took a sip. “Hmmm. That _is_ tasty. As I was saying. Pull yourself together. Be a proper part-time father to Tommen. Paint again. When was the last time you picked up a brush?”

“Too long,” Jaime mumbled. He sighed. “Gods, Tyrion, I should have listened to you from the very beginning.”

Tyrion grinned. “Amen. Gods, I really want that tattooed on my butt. I’d never thought I’d hear you say it.”

Jaime laughed, and Tyrion joined him. 

“Shut the fuck up, Tyrion,” Jaime said affectionately.


	15. FIFTEEN

[](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

Jaime wondered if it was fate for him to go to an art opening and be confronted with the woman he had so cavalierly discarded for his cheating sister-cousin because of alleged true love. This time around, Oberyn Martell had a retrospective of his twenty-year career at the prestigious King’s Landing Museum of Modern Art, and everyone of any note in the artistic community was there for opening night. 

It was an indication of the depth of respect that the art world had for Martell that he was given the whole second floor of the museum, which displayed a range of his works, from his early war photography, his bout in fashion photography, to the fine art photography he turned to in the previous decade of his life. The final room was a display of his latest works, and Jaime was astounded to discover that the photographs were all of Brienne. At first the photographs showed scenes, as if from stage: Brienne as a shining female knight in armor; Brienne as the wronged Ophelia, drowned in a river; as a secret agent, in a black trench coat and nothing underneath, her miles of legs on display. Then the photographs were black and white portraits, stark in its imagery - her face, free of makeup, staring soulfully into the camera, hair wild or slicked back. Her profile and her naked body, the long expanse of her back and leg. Brienne wearing nothing but a cape, draped open, a toned leg and a high, tight ass on display. Then colour photographs, close-ups of her face - her large, generous pink lips, slightly open and wet. A pebbled rosy nipple. The profile of her crooked nose. Her blue, blue, blue eyes, impossibly beautiful. 

Jaime felt lightheaded, and didn’t know where to look. The photographs brought too many vivid memories back from the year before - how had it been a year and a half since he had tasted her, touched the heat of her skin, felt her under his hands? He was confused as to why her images were here in this room with him, as a part of Oberyn’s new work, no less. He felt a flare of irrational jealousy and his insides ached. He _missed_ her. It had been too long. Looking at the photographs of her was like being with her once again, and it was overwhelming. He wanted to throw everyone out and examine each photograph carefully. Suddenly he realized: this was the opening, and there was a chance that she could be here. He looked around, a little too eagerly, scanning the sea of bodies around him for that all-too-familiar form.

“Brienne is not here, Jaime,” Oberyn said, coming up to him, his voice low and amused. “But I thought I would find you in this room.”

“As you can imagine, she is much too shy to come to the public opening of such a large show, especially with her as my muse in this final, most important room.” The man looked around proudly at the images of Brienne. “I led her on a private tour last night. She was blushing most delightfully, but I dare say that she liked these pictures I took of her.” The man smirked. 

“Ellaria is, of course, here, if you want to say hello to her. She has been quite enamored with these photographs just as I have been.”

Jaime did not know what to say. “They are very beautiful,” he managed to remark. 

Oberyn gave him a curious look. “It’s a wonder how you gave her up so easily. Rumour has it that she was very much in love with you. Of course, she doesn’t talk about you in that way, beyond talking about your work, that is.”

Jaime’s mouth went dry. His head ached and he felt his world wobble alarmingly. “Were you with her then? _Are_ you with her?”

Oberyn laughed. “If you are asking if we are lovers, isn’t the answer obvious? One hardly takes such intimate photos of a woman one has not been on _intimate_ terms with.” He stared at Jaime, his expression amused. “She is a remarkable, sexy woman. I would marry her if Ellaria weren’t in the picture and if she wasn’t so disinclined toward commitment - your doing, I suppose - but I have a feeling that she would be someone that a man could discover every day and still be surprised.”

Jaime nodded mutely. Gods, he wanted to disappear at that moment.

“Please excuse me, Jaime. I must make my rounds. By the way, I was sorry to hear about Cersei’s marriage to Euron. I know how much you loved her and how devoted you were to her.”

Jaime stared after the stupidly handsome dark-haired man. He had not heard from Brienne for over a year, not since their joint opening at Roseheart. Even their exhibit openings at the various galleries throughout Westeros - Olenna and Margaery had arranged that only one of them, not both, would be at the events. The only exception to that would be Winterfell Gallery in two months, and this very same prestigious venue in about six months’ time. He expected to see her at Winterfell; in fact, he had been eagerly awaiting the date, but he had not expected to be confronted with the many facets of Brienne through the lens of Oberyn Martell this very evening.

He needed to go. He felt warm and sweaty and like the room was closing in on him. He would return at a quieter time, to better examine the photographs. If he were honest with himself, he secretly wanted to stay here for hours on end.

=====

The paintings were all stored in a specially made shelving unit that was set to the perfect storage temperature. Twenty-four of her best paintings were kept here, all painted from the time she had graduated to now, nearly two years of work. Brienne felt proud, looking at the work she had produced - her paintings always took a long time to create, because of the attention to detail required, but she was happy with the way these had turned out.

Judging from Olenna’s examination of the two latest paintings she had delivered to her, the old woman was pleased. 

“Now these last two you brought me - I can already see Tarth in them. I cannot wait to see the new direction that being on Tarth will have on your work, child.” Olenna gave Brienne an eager look. 

“The timing on this show will be perfect.” She clasped her heavily ringed hands. “The last stop on the _Paradise Redeemed_ tour at the Modern Museum of Art, then the week after, the solo debut of Brienne Tarth at our gallery right here. And I’m glad that you’re willing to sell the work - you need your work to belong to the rich collectors out there, and they will be eager to buy the first paintings of the soon-to-be legendary artist Brienne Tarth.”

Brienne blushed, though she couldn’t lie to herself and say that this vision did not please her. She was increasingly embracing the fact that she was ambitious - oh, not for money or fame, but for being the best in her field, for being a good and well respected painter, and not just a female painter. She wanted to make her mark in the art world. Above all, she wanted to live up to her own vision she had for herself.

Olenna gave her an arch look. “Now, the opening in Winterfell in two months’ time. I have you and Jaime traveling together and staying at the same hotel for two nights. Will that be a problem?”

Brienne shook her head. “No, of course not. What happened between me and Jaime was over a year and a half ago. Things will be fine. I have no hard feelings toward him.”

Olenna looked at her steadily, as if studying her. “You heard about Cersei marrying that Pharmaceutical CEO Euron Greyjoy? She’s left the Lannister corporation in a lurch, I hear. Tywin is furious. Obviously.” She smiled sadly. “Poor Jaime. Unlucky in love, as they say.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard. I hear so little gossip out on Tarth. Well, I’m sorry for him, though I hope that Jaime gets to spend enough time with Tommen.” Brienne schooled her face into bland interest.

“Oh, the boy? It turns out that Euron is not at all enthusiastic about raising another man’s child, so Jaime has his son living with him a lot of the time. Not full custody of course, Cersei would never give up her son, as inconvenient as he might be to her rich new husband.”

“I’m happy for him,” Brienne said neutrally. Over the past year or so, she had mastered the art of the mild reaction. Instead of the overwhelming blushes and the face that always gave her away, she had developed a veil over her real thoughts and feelings. Few suspected that there was much going on underneath; indeed, only her most intimates knew the depth of her emotions.

“My dear. It is inevitable that one gossips about fellow artists here in the gallery, especially if they are represented by the same gallerist! For example, Margaery just told me that our Jaime was at Oberyn’s opening last night!”

At this news, Brienne paled, remembering the final room, where the images were all of her. When Oberyn had shown her the room she nearly fainted; but she could not deny the beauty and the intimacy of the images. He had truly captured her. He, along with Jon, were the only men who seemed to know her instinctively. Of course, Oberyn had to whisper filthy nothings in her ear during the tour until her underwear was soaked. At the end, he pulled her into a large washroom, knelt in front of her and fucked her with his mouth and tongue before pushing her up on the bathroom counter and fucked her with his thick and urgent cock. She was thankful that he had shown her the exhibit after hours, when no one was around except for a lone security guard in the lobby, because the noises they both made would have attracted a shocked crowd.

Olenna chuckled, bringing Brienne back to herself. “Apparently, Jaime was blown away by the room. You could have picked up his jaw off the floor, my dear. He spent an unusually long time staring at your pictures. Going down memory lane, I imagine,” Olenna said, her eyes twinkling.

Brienne made a non-committal sound. 

“Gods, child, you are as secure as a vault these days.” Olenna raised her eyebrows. “How you have grown.”

Brienne laughed lightly. “I suppose two years will do that to a person. Now if you would excuse me, Olenna, I have an engagement I need to get to.”

The old man smiled knowingly. “Of course dear. You go on. I’ll be in touch. And please give my congratulations to dear Oberyn for his opening. He has always been my favourite Martell.”

Brienne paused in her step, silently cursing the all-knowing woman. She lifted her head, and continued to saunter on.

=====

It was hard for Brienne to believe that there was an extremely handsome, muscular, tanned, nearly naked man sitting on a chair right in front of her. He looked at her as much as she was looking at him, his black eyes seductive and full of want. Only a bright blue towel covered him from the waist down; of course, Brienne had to capture the alluring hip muscle that called out to her, using a mixture of Raw and Burnt Sienna, highlighted with a touch of Buff Titanium. 

Oberyn had arrived early, catching her while she was painting, before she could put away her brushes and tools. When Jon had moved back to Winterfell about six months ago, she had started painting in the living room, to allow more space for larger canvases. Jon had eventually returned to Ygritte, deciding he couldn’t live without her after all, especially since the woman passionately declared her love for him. Subsequently, he decided to move up North for part of the year. Her and Jon’s relationship had transitioned back to one of just friendship with as much ease as it had first turned sexual, much to their surprise. Of course, it helped that at that point, Oberyn had come into Brienne’s life to ease the closing of that particular door. However, both Jon and Brienne had decided to continue renting the Flea Bottom apartment to keep as a home base when either of them was in town. They still texted or talked nearly every day, and Brienne believed that they would always be close. More recently, Brienne had started the move to Tarth, already spending a couple of months there; she now intended to spend two months in King’s Landing, at least until the trip to Winterfell in two months’ time. 

Oberyn, standing at the door and seeing Brienne all covered with paint, moved in quickly to embrace her, undoubtedly intending to strip those paint-splattered clothes off her one by one. But Brienne pulled him inside and started to undress _him_. And when Oberyn was beautiful and naked before her, his cock already hard, she wrapped a blue towel around him and pushed him down on the chair in front of her easel. He reached for her, moaning, but she darted away. She gave him a commanding look.

“First, Oberyn, I’m going to paint you. So you’ll know what it’s like to be the subject of a piece of art, the focus of creation.” She looked intently at him, her desire building within her. She could feel herself starting to drip for him. “Then,” she continued, “I’m going to fuck you.” His eyes burned like bright coals, his full mouth open and wet.

He had been obedient, his eyes following her every moment, his muscles anticipatory and tense, his body like that of a coiled tiger, ready to strike. She worked quickly, amazed at his expression, something in her needing to capture that pure want in his face. His desire for her. It still amazed her that a sexy man such as Oberyn would want her. 

She had called him months earlier, just as she had promised at the art opening. He invited her to Dorne, where she met his paramour Ellaria, who was lovely and flirtatious and sent Oberyn enthusiastic nods of approval. The next day, Oberyn had dressed her as a knight, and she felt powerful in the blue armor, welding a great steel sword. By the end of the session, he put his camera aside and knelt before her, as if in prayer or awaiting a blessing. She pulled him up and kissed him.

It took some time for her to be convinced that Oberyn had truly wanted her, but what they found in each other was enormous pleasure. Oberyn loved every aspect of her body and made it a point to worship it every chance he got. They developed a casual relationship where they fell into bed whenever they ended up in the same city. It surprised her that she was Oberyn’s only lover outside of his and Ellaria’s relationship. She was under the impression that he slept with anyone who caught his eye. Currently, however, that was not the case. He was getting pickier with time, he explained to her with a shrug. For her part, Ellaria had her two or three lovers that she had been seeing over the years. This meant of course, that after all of the involved parties were tested and cleared of STIs, they could do without condoms, as Brienne was already on birth control. Ellaria had first wanted to join the two of them, but Brienne discovered that she was much too heterosexual for a threesome. At this, Oberyn was more or less pleased, as he confessed after one of their nights of lovemaking that he didn’t like to share her, even though Ellaria would have loved to experience Brienne herself. 

What Brienne had with Oberyn was different from what she had with Jon; with Jon, their foundation was friendship, but with Oberyn, the foundation was pure sex. Under his hands, Brienne felt like an instrument at the hands of a master - he knew how to play her, how to make her moan, quake, squirm, and scream. She had never felt like such a raw vessel of desire under his touch. But he promised her nothing in terms of a relationship or commitment; nor did Brienne want either of those things. To her, the set up was perfect: seeing Oberyn every few months for one or two nights of mind-shattering bliss. The rest of the time she could concentrate on her art. Paint, read, study.

When she was done with the painting, she started to unbutton her paint-splattered white shirt, her similarly stained jeans, her cotton underwear, until she stood naked before the seated Oberyn. His eyes went wide as they lingered over the long, strong lines of her body. She could see the effect her nakedness had on him, by the way the thin towel was tenting up even more at his hips. She stood in front of him and she pulled the towel away from under him, revealing his impressive erection that was already reddening and leaking at the tip. She didn’t kiss him or touch him; instead she simply straddled him and sunk down on his cock in one languid move, her molten wetness enveloping him. Oberyn threw his head back and shouted.

Afterwards, they lay in bed, their bodies sweaty and satiated from their bouts of lovemaking. Being with Oberyn was interesting, she thought. They were together just for sex, but he always made her feel adored and even _loved_ when they were together. It was exactly what she wanted and needed: to be loved, in the moment.

“What is Ellaria doing tonight?” Brienne asked idly, tracing the bare skin of Oberyn’s warm chest.

He chuckled. “You mean _who’s_ she’s doing? It’s Margaery Tyrell, one of her regulars, though not for a long while.”

“Would you normally have joined them?” Brienne asked, curious.

“I suppose,” Oberyn said lightly. “But when I’m in the same place as you, I want no one else. You are all, for me.”

“What we have is very good,” mused Brienne. 

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. “By the way, I saw Jaime Lannister at the opening last night. He was very...entranced by your portraits. I might have revealed that we were lovers. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

Brienne felt a flash of annoyance, and wondered why Jaime Lannister was everyone’s topic of conversation today. She sighed. “I would have thought that fact was obvious by the pictures of my nipples and my naked body that you put on the walls?”

Oberyn laughed. “I suppose. But he asked.” He leaned down to suck her nipples, making her arch her back. “Speaking of nipples, yours are very spectacular.” His hands roamed her body as his mouth kissed her unabashedly. She felt his cock quickly harden against her thigh, even though he had come not twenty minutes before. The man is a sex god, Brienne thought, as she returned his kiss with an open mouth.


	16. SIXTEEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

The driver stopped the car in front of Jaime’s apartment building. Through the window, Brienne could see him kiss Tommen goodbye and hug Tyrion, who she assumed was taking care of the boy while Jaime was away on their trip to Winterfell. In the back of her mind, she wondered about Cersei and where she was, and if she was involved in her son’s life. The boy himself looked taller, yet still retained his adorable quality.

Jaime walked toward the car and put his luggage into the trunk, followed by Tommen. The boy smiled brightly at his father and hugged his chest, and Jaime playfully ruffled his blonde curls. The boy slowly peeked in the car window and saw Brienne.

“Brienne!” Tommen exclaimed, wildly waving. 

She grinned and came out of the car, only to be hugged by the boy. She could not help but grin at his affectionate good nature. “Tommen! You still remember me from that long ago?”

“Of course I do! You painted the best picture of Ser Pounce.” He looked at her shyly. “Plus, there’s a huge picture of you in our dining room.”

Tyrion, standing nearby, laughed. Jaime widened his eyes as if caught and stammered, “Uh, it’s one of Oberyn’s - the one where you’re a knight?”

Brienne felt a little mortified, though she was glad he had bought that particular picture and not any of the more intimate ones, though Oberyn did say that those sexier ones he would be keeping for posterity.

“Yeah! It’s my favourite picture. You look...heroic! And pretty.” Tommen beamed at her.

Jaime still looked embarrassed. “Ok, Tommen, we have to go. Be good. Call me Tyrion, if anything comes up!”

He rushed into the car, seemingly unwilling to prolong the awkward conversation in front of Brienne. She waved goodbye and sat back in her seat, amused to see Jaime so unusually flustered. Brienne’s eyes roamed over him. It had been over a year and a half since she’d last seen him at the joint opening at Roseheart - he had cut his hair shorter and had grown a short beard, which seemed to enhance his jawline and unearthly beauty even more. It was simply unfair how handsome he was. She was pleased to find that he also looked more relaxed and less tired than when he last saw him. As she stared at him, she was surprised to notice that the residual hurt she expected simply wasn’t there. Instead, she felt _glad_ that he looked so well. 

While it took time to recover from the blow of Jaime suddenly leaving her for Cersei, she could not turn away from the fact that Jaime was kind to her when he didn’t need to be, offered her time to paint, and believed in her art when no one else did. He had plainly changed her life for the better, no matter what happened between them. Throughout it all, she somehow maintained the belief that Jaime was a good man, though at times obviously misguided or confused.

She heard about him from Olenna every once in a while; he lived alone now, with his son, whom he had most of the time. He was painting. When she heard this, Brienne was somehow immensely relieved. She knew from experience that not being able to paint is one of the worse fates that could befall a painter. For those like Jaime and Brienne, making art was why they existed, and not to have that in their lives was tantamount to torture.

In the car, Jaime was looking at her as much as she was looking at him, and she was surprised to notice a faint blush on his cheeks when he met her gaze.

“So, can we talk about how you have a portrait of me in your living room?” Brienne joked.

Jaime cracked a smile and looked embarrassed, blushing even pinker. “How could I say no to an Oberyn Martell? It’s one of my favorite photos of you - I always thought you resembled the Blue Knight of legend. Plus, Tommen is obsessed with knights. He has a crush on you, you know.”

Brienne laughed. “He’s a very sweet boy. I’m happy I met with his approval. I should hope to meet Ser Pounce one of these days, if only to compare the real thing to my painting.”

“Any time, Brienne. Tommen would love it.” His eyes studied her face, and seemed to slowly drink her in. “It’s wonderful to see you. You look good. Beautiful, in fact.”

Brienne shook her head and felt her own cheeks redden. She looked out the window at the receding sights of the city.

Jaime gave her one of his brilliant smiles. “You know, I had to beg Oberyn to sell me the portrait of you dressed as a knight. He didn’t want to part with it for sentimental reasons, he’d said. And he was adamant on not selling any of the other portraits of you.”

She turned to look at him, interested. “Oh? Then how did you manage to get your hands on it?”

“I begged, basically. And threw him a lot of money. Even then, he was reluctant, but I talked him into it after weeks of harassment.” He grinned.

“Oberyn can be a pushover when it comes to his friends,” Brienne said kindly. He gave her a strange look.

Their flight was three hours to Winterfell, and incredibly, the Tyrells had put them in First Class, unlike her other flights during the tour. The experience was slightly disorientating; she never had money while growing up and was unused to such luxury. She could hardly believe that alcohol was free and unlimited, and that they were served delicious food on real porcelain plates even on such a short flight. Brienne was impressed and a little afraid to touch all the fancy gifts in elegant pouches. She felt inexperienced and a little awkward, and was amazed that for someone like Jaime, this was normal, daily life. As for Jaime, he could barely contain his amusement at watching her being so awestruck at her surroundings. Of course, she couldn’t help but throw him an annoyed look, which he matched with a cheeky smirk. It was pleasant. Somehow, a lightness of spirit descended upon the two of them as they took off into the air, and it truth it was a lightness that was most welcome.

During the flight, Brienne started to watch a romantic comedy only to find Jaime copying her, putting on the same movie. She glared at him pointedly.

“I never thought you were a romantic comedy type, Brienne of Tarth,” he said playfully, the gold of his eyes sparkling in sea of green.

“There happen to be a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Brienne said coolly. “There also happens to be a lot of other movie choices, Jaime Lannister.” She sent him scowl which left him grinning.

“Ah, but I _want_ to watch this movie together with you.” Jaime pouted, and somehow the effect was more sexy than juvenile, much to her annoyance.

He then proceeded to send her amused looks and made sarcastic, witty comments at every ridiculous moment of the movie. She rolled her eyes at him, but she discovered that it only encouraged him more. In the end, her defenses were breached and she found herself dissolving into giggles at his utter ridiculousness. Jaime looked completely delighted and laughed alongside her, both of them earning stern looks from the other passengers. For the first time in a long time, Brienne felt young, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Frankly, she was amazed at how _normal_ it all seemed with him. It was likely an indication that she had really gotten over him, she thought to herself. She found herself relaxing in his presence.

The astonishments continued for Brienne. The hotel they were staying at was the fanciest hotel she had ever seen. The property was on natural springs, so it was warm year-round, despite the cool Northern climate that met them at the airport. Much to her chagrin, the desk clerk at the hotel was more well-dressed than Brienne. And when they checked in, one look from the pretty clerk at the visual artist-turned-model Jaime Lannister provided them with a room upgrade, from their two tiny single rooms to a large suite with two attached bedrooms.

“Does that always happen to you?” Brienne asked, curious.

“Why? It doesn’t happen to you?” Jaime asked with a sly grin.

Jaime seemed tickled at Brienne’s reaction to their modern, very expensive suite, and kept glancing at her with laughing eyes to see her reactions. They had a magnificent view of the lush green forests, and even the faraway northern mountains. The living room was huge, complete with a fireplace; there were flat-screen TVs in every room, and minimal, simple wooden and leather furniture throughout, and even a very fancy looking coffee machine which made her nervous. Her bedroom was just as sumptuous, with a King-sized bed and white feather duvet and so many pillows that Brienne thought that she could drown in pillows. The bathroom had a deep soaker tub that would actually fit her tall frame, white marble counters, and the loveliest smelling soaps Brienne had ever encountered. 

“Oh gods, there’s a terrace,” Brienne exclaimed, gaping as she opened the sliding door. “And a hot tub,” she said in awe. She looked at Jaime. “But why would they put a hot tub in here when there are natural springs right at the hotel?”

Jaime just grinned. He held up his phone, taking pictures of the room and of her delighted reactions. “To show Tommen,” he said simply, shrugging, when she gave him a look.

=====

Jon and Ygritte lived in a rustic little house on a large plot of land about twenty minutes north of Winterfell, nestled in a little green valley between snow-capped mountains. The scenery was spectacular on their drive there, but in truth Jaime was more focused on looking at Brienne while she was driving than he was in seeing the mountains and forests outside their window. Being here with her, it felt for the first time that things seemed normal between them. Instead of tension on her part and guilt on his, there was an easy, light camaraderie since they started traveling to Winterfell. He was overjoyed at seeing the glee and enthusiasm that had overcome her on the airplane and on seeing their hotel suite. As someone who had grown up with these luxuries, seeing the world through her inexperienced eyes made him appreciate his surroundings for the first time. It made him want to take her to all his favourite places in the world just to see that excited gleam in her eyes. Gods, he had missed her. Being near her on this trip made him realize just how much he actually felt her absence in his life. Jaime felt excited for the first time in what seemed like months. Smiles and laughter bubbled up out of nowhere. He felt light. There was something about the north too, that made Brienne’s blue eyes sparkle and her skin brighter and her blushes more vividly pink. 

The largest dog Jaime and ever seen bounded up to them as they got out of the car. It was white and looked strong enough to tackle Jaime to the ground if the creature had the inclination. Luckily, the only form of attacking it did was to paw at Jaime and lick Brienne’s hands.

“Ghost! To me!” Jon cried out, walking out the red door of an impressive log cabin. The dog trotted to its master and sat obediently, tilting its great head and panting in the direction of his visitors.

Jon quickened his strides and threw his arms around Brienne, giving her a lingering kiss on the lips in greeting. “Brienne! You’ve come.” 

Brienne smiled widely, squeezing Jon tightly. “Jon - didn’t tell me you lived in such an enchanted place,” she said, looking around at the tall evergreens that surrounded them.

Jon beamed at her then looked skeptically at Jaime and nodded a greeting. “Jaime. Welcome. It’s good to see you again.” Jon threw Brienne a look and some communication passed between them. Jaime furrowed his brow.

“Thanks for the invitation, Jon.” 

Jon hooked an arm around Brienne and led them inside, where Ygritte - a rather petite, vibrant redhead - was bustling in the kitchen. The cabin was cozy, with a fire in the hearth, comfortable, well-used furniture, and a large dining table off the kitchen.

Ygritte kissed Brienne on the cheek, and widened her eyes when she saw Jaime.

“So this is the famous Jaime Lannister I’ve heard about all this time,” the woman said in her strong, Northern voice. 

“This is Ygritte, my girlfriend.” Jon then gestured to the dog at his feet. “And you’ve already met Ghost, who’s very over familiar with guests, as you might have noticed.”

“Ygritte, are you an artist too?” Jaime asked politely, keeping an eye on Brienne who was being led around on a tour of the cabin by Jon.

“Gods, no. I don't understand or like art all that much,” she confessed. “I’m a reporter on KBHR, political stories and the like - you know, solid stuff. That art thing is a little too airy fairy to me, if you ask me.”

Jon came up to the ginger and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “That doesn’t stop her from telling me opinions about my paintings, however.”

She shrugged and gave him a sly look. “You’re lucky I actually _like_ your work, Jon Snow.”

Dinner was a simple yet tasty rabbit stew with homemade soda bread. For dessert there was sticky toffee pudding and glasses of mulled wine - a dealcoholized one for Brienne, since she was driving. Jaime felt pleasantly warm and lulled by the good company. Unlike the often sullen Jon, Ygritte was a talker and regaled them with stories about North of the wall and her Wildling people, most of whom had settled around Winterfell, while a few still braved the frigid temperatures way up North.

Jaime didn’t know that Jon also grew up in the North, and around Ygritte, his Northern accent became much more identifiable. Most surprising of all, they did not talk about painting or art, beyond the mention of the show’s opening at Winterfell Museum the next day.

“So Brienne,” Ygritte said, looking at her slyly. “Are you and Jaime back together? I remember things being hot and heavy between the two of you around the time I left King’s Landing.”

Jon threw Ygritte an annoyed look. “You don’t have to answer that,” he muttered. 

Brienne widened her eyes. “No - we’re not. We’re just here for the exhibit. But it does feel like we’ve known each other for years - I mean, at least I feel that way.” Jaime nodded in agreement. 

She smiled sadly. “Besides, that seems like a long time ago now. It feels like that happened in another lifetime.”

Something struck in Jaime and he felt his insides clink hollowly. He stared at his cup of wine, observing his distorted reflection in its rich, red surface.

“You’re not going out with anyone, then?” Ygritte cheerfully asked, her eyebrows raised. 

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t - I don’t really _go out_ with people,” she said slowly. 

Jon shot her a sympathetic look. “Brienne is devoted to her work - it’s a wonder she has time for anything else.” He looked at her with admiration. “I feel like if you are creating work at the calibre that Brienne is, romance is hardly the most important thing.”

She threw him a grateful look. Ygritte smirked.

“Quite right,” Jaime said. “I wish I had half the dedication Brienne has; I’m afraid that in my heyday, I coasted on my talent. I could have worked much harder than I did.”

This was true. He remembered being lauded early in his career for his talent, and painting enough to sell and garner critical acclaim, but in reality he was more caught up with his cousin and needing to be with her as much as possible. For a time, instead of painting, Cersei had become the main vehicle for his devotion. He didn’t believe that anything else could be more important than love. If only he had known what true love was at the time, he thought regretfully.

Later that evening, Jon was showing Brienne his small painting studio out in the back of the property. Leaving the two old friends to catch up, Jaime instead helped Ygritte in the kitchen, dutifully drying the dishes.

“It takes being away from someone to really realize that you miss them, doesn’t it?” Ygritte said, her eyes twinkling at Jaime.

He looked at her.

“When I left for Winterfell and Jon and I broke up, it took me a while to realize that I needed him back in my life, even though I was all about being independent and having my own career at the time.” Ygritte grinned. “It was only when I realized he didn’t need me, that he was becoming successful on his own, that he was seeing Brienne, and that he had a busy, fulfilling life, that I thought to ask him to come up North so we could be together.”

Jaime must have looked stricken and pale, because Ygritte gave him a curious glance. “Gods, you didn’t know about Jon and Brienne?” She gave him an arch look as she vigorously scrubbed a pan. “It wasn’t serious, you know, what they had. Just sex, really. And who could blame them - they were living together, best friends, both heartbroken - well, Brienne especially-” The woman looked sharply at Jaime. 

“Well the thing is, I was too stupid to realize what I had in Jon. And eventually I got over my pride and confessed what I was feeling to him. After that, it was all too easy - everything seemed to fall into place.” She handed him the pan dripping water.

Jaime was still inwardly reeling from the fact that Jon and Brienne had been - what - _lovers_? He gave Ygritte a searching look. “You don’t mind that they were together? That they’re alone right now in Jon’s studio?”

The red-haired woman laughed. “I guess you don’t know this about Jon, but he is the most ridiculously loyal person I’ve ever met. By the way, so is Brienne. They are similar in that way.” She took the towel from his grasp. “They would never cheat once they commit. It’s not their way.”

She hung the tea towel to dry and poured them tumblers of whisky. “My point is, you’ve had your eyes on Brienne all evening. Adoring. Obvious to all but her. If you want her back in your life, you’ve got to tell her.”

Jaime stared at Ygritte, half annoyed and half impressed by the audacity of her words. She stared at him challengingly. He finally shook his head.

“Hmmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Suit yourself.”

Jaime and Brienne were both quiet on the drive back to the hotel - even though it was cold, Brienne had the windows rolled down and the fresh mountain air rushed through them. The roads were dark and quiet, with only the calm drone of the engine as their music as they drove. 

“You must miss Jon,” Jaime said, breaking the silence. Suddenly, it seemed that his voice was much too loud.

Brienne turned to look at him, her eyes nearly black in the dark, her skin frosted by the light of the stars. 

“Of course I do,” she said. She stared ahead at the wide circles of light that illuminated the roads. “But friendships change. Relationships change. I don’t expect to hold on to what I had years or even months ago.”

Her words seemed to have more meaning than she’d intended. But before he had a chance to delve into her words, she added, “I’m glad he’s found happiness with Ygritte up North.”

It must have been a new moon that night, because it was unusually dark. Winterfell Hotel blazed into their sight like a mountain of light.

When they got back to the hotel suite, Brienne marveled at the fact that the staff had given them new bottles of water and turned down the beds for them, even leaving a gift of chocolate on the pillow. Brienne’s eyes were wide as she again took in the expanse and luxury of their suite. She looked a little longingly at the terrace, where tiny lights had marked the path to the hot tub, which was steaming invitingly.

“You know, Brienne, it’s not at all late. You could try the hot tub if you wanted to.”

She sorely looked tempted. “But I didn’t bring my bathing suit.” 

“Wear your underwear. Wear nothing.” He gave her a teasing look. “That’s what I plan to do.”

“You’re going in there _naked_?” Brienne squeaked, her eyes wide.

Jaime laughed. “I think it’s a bit too late for either of us to be shy.” He went to the bathroom and brought out towels and his bathrobe.

“I’ll see you out there,” he called out to her as he slid open the door.

=====

Brienne prided herself in being a light packer, so on this two night trip she didn’t think to bring a swimsuit. Winterfell was cold, so most of her small luggage was taken up by t-shirts, a thick sweater and pants, along with an outfit for the opening. She had brought one bra and she doubted that it would dry in time for them to go to the gallery in the morning. And so it was that underneath her robe she wore just her plain black cotton panties and nothing else. 

She believed she was over Jaime Lannister and their brief relationship. Nearly two years ago, she had allowed herself to believe that she was in love with him. At the time, she thought she was happy, but everything she wanted shattered in front of her. In the end, he had gone back to what he’d always known, back to his first and only love. The fact that he and Cersei’s relationship fell apart months ago meant little. She imagined that a love like theirs was a kind of cosmic force in which they would always gravitate and return to one another. It was the kind of love that only a lucky few would ever experience in their lifetimes.

The problem was that Jaime was much too tempting. His beauty was unmatched, and the way he still looked at her sometimes made her weak in the knees. She felt wanted by him, desired even though she was overly tall and awkward and ugly. It was like that with Oberyn too, but Jaime’s attentive gaze was much more sharply focused on her, instead of Oberyn’s more suffused desire. The way he looked at her made her skin tingle. Today, his gaze was almost like a caress. He was too charming and funny and he made her smile and laugh without even knowing what he was doing to her. There was something wonderful about going away with him on this trip. She had felt the adventure of it, the complete newness of her experiences; she felt full of wonder. And things between them were _fine_ \- pleasant even - and they seemed to have eased back into a kind of tentative friendship that made her sigh with relief.

She had no excuses when she stepped onto the terrace and walked toward the hot tub, where she could see Jaime’s golden head and shoulders resting against the side of the tub. She wasn’t drunk and she was in her right mind. Upon her approach, Jaime smiled brightly at her.

“Finally come to join me, Brienne?” His voice was low and smooth, his gaze traveling over her body wrapped in her robe.

Instead of answering, she slowly untied the robe and slid it down. Her nipples hardened in the cold, and she eased into the water, its heat nearly overwhelming. Jaime’s eyes were wide, his mouth open. There was a kind of intensity in his expression that made her want him.

The water felt good and she could feel the warmth of it kneading away at her sore shoulders and back.

He continued to stare at her. She felt her blood warm.

“What are you thinking about, Jaime?” she asked, letting curiosity get the better of her.

His green eyes flashed in the dim light and traveled across her face down her neck and shoulders. “I was thinking that there were so many things we didn’t get to do together. Like being in a hot tub together. Or travel together. There were so many things I wanted to do with you.”

Brienne sighed. “What does it matter now, Jaime?”

“Don’t you think about it, Brienne? What we could have had?”

She bit her lip. “I did, for a while. And then I stopped. I didn’t see the point of torturing myself.”

“I truly am sorry, you know. I never wanted to hurt you. I was barely thinking at the time.” He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed in sorrow.

She sighed. “It made sense that you’d go back to Cersei, the woman you’d been in love with for two decades. I should have expected it; I don’t know why it struck me by surprise when it happened.”

Jaime pushed a wet hand through his hair. Steam curled up from his shoulders. “I felt trapped - torn between my past and you, my future. Tommen was the factor that tipped the balance. In recent years, I wasn’t blind to Cersei’s cruelties and infidelities. But Tommen was my son, and I wanted to be his father. Even though Cersei again proved who she was by cheating on me and marrying Euron, I can’t regret going back to her, Brienne, because it made me a father to Tommen. Cersei wouldn’t have let me be in his life otherwise. I needed to see if we could be a family. It was my last chance to try to love Cersei and finally make a family.”

“Jaime, you don’t have to explain all this to me.” She felt weary, and all too aware of Jaime’s alluring nearness.

“You are the only one I owe any kind of explanation to, Brienne. I was selfish to think that I could keep you for myself. Cersei wouldn’t let me be and I willingly fell back into her arms. I’m sorry that I used you.”

“Jaime. We had a two-month fling; you had a rebound affair. A choice between twenty years with someone versus two months is not even a competition.” She looked at him evenly. “It’s been over for a while. We’ve both moved on.”

“You can’t deny that they’re still something between us.” Jaime said softly. “Whatever we had...isn’t finished.” He moved closer in the water to her. She was conscious of his every move, the way the briefest of gestures made the water between them ripple.

He was close enough to touch. Somehow, she found that her right hand was reaching out to him, cupping one of his cheeks and caressing his beard like she’d wanted to do since this morning. He hitched his breath and leaned closer to her. His eyes seemed drawn to her lips. As soon as their lips grazed, his breath warming her skin, she gasped and came to herself. She pulled away and shook her head.

“We shouldn’t,” Brienne whispered, standing up as he stared mutely up at her half-naked body. She climbed out, wiped herself with a fluffy towel and put on her robe, shivering against the cold. 

She went inside now, leaving him staring after her, open-mouthed in the steaming water.


	17. SEVENTEEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

The next morning, it was as if the slight kiss in the hot tub had never happened. By the time Jaime hauled himself out of bed, exhausted, Brienne was already up and dressed in a cozy blue sweater and slim grey wool pants and was sipping coffee and coolly flipping through a magazine. She looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“You look fresh,” Jaime said, trying very hard not to remember the image of Brienne suddenly emerging half-naked out of the hot tub the night before. Seeing her standing there – all at once defiant and brave but also fearful – had unraveled him. Guilt and regret were his sleeping companions last night, and he was sure he looked as rough as he felt.

Brienne smiled warmly at him. “I figured out the coffee machine. I left some for you,” Brienne said, gesturing in the direction of the kitchenette.

“Why do we need to be there this morning again?” Jaime grumbled, pouring himself a cup and sitting down beside her.

Brienne gave him an even, no nonsense look. “They’re doing us a favour, Jaime. We get to see how the works have been set up and have the opportunity to make last minute changes to the space.”

Jaime shrugged. “A bit of lip service, in my experience.” He looked, and she did not react to his very subtle allusion to their barely-there kiss the night before. He inwardly sighed. The woman in front of him seemed untouchable. He wanted to reach her, but felt wholly unequipped to do so.

Brienne seemed preoccupied at the magazine in front of her and furrowed her brow. 

“What is it?” Jaime asked, curious. He slowly pulled the magazine toward him to glance at the page. He was surprised to see that it was a feature story on one of the local tourist attractions.

She tilted her head and gave him a thoughtful look. “I was thinking, if we have time, of going to visit Winterfell Castle. It’s a museum, and one of the oldest castles that’s left in Westeros.”

Jaime’s eyes lit up, scanning the pages of the magazine. “That’s a great idea. The site of the Long Night? Too bad we don’t have enough time to visit the Wall. I hear what’s left of it is still spectacular.”

Brienne smiled, pleased.

He stared at her. It occurred to him that Brienne had changed since the time he knew her. When they’d first met, she was transparent, every emotion and moment of embarrassment practically written on her face. For Jaime, reading her was like looking at an extremely fascinating and accessible painting. Her face hid nothing. Now however, even though she still blushed and smiled and showed emotion, there was a veil between her and the rest of the world. It was Brienne keeping herself at a distance. Protecting herself. It made him ashamed that this change was likely his doing, that he caused a part of her to shut herself away. He felt a tightness in his chest and his heart throbbed painfully.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, his voice serious. “Are we not going to talk about what happened last night?”

She gave him a long look, and shook her head. “Nothing happened last night, Jaime.” She patted his shoulder when she passed him. A gentle, little placating touch, one Jaime would have characterized as patronizing if it hadn’t come from her.

She got up and put her mug in the sink. “You’d better get ready. We leave in an hour.”

Winterfell Gallery was a huge rectangular building made of white stone, with large windows adorning the common areas and hallways. Their exhibit took over half the floor space of the first floor, the bright white walls giving each of the large canvases room to breathe. As Jaime expected, their arrival that morning was a mere formality, to make sure they were actually in town and committed to attending the opening. Dacey Mormont, the curator, a tall, lean woman with elegant features, outlined for them the night’s program, and specified the type of VIP guests who were expected that night. The press was expected, and Jaime and Brienne would be asked to give short interviews and have their photographs taken. It was all pretty standard for an art opening. 

When Dacey left, he and Brienne walked through the exhibit, stopping to look at each of the fourteen paintings they created together. It made him both happy and sad to see the paintings again. Having Brienne right beside him certainly complicated matters, because he vividly remembered painting side by side with her – how they began with brushes in their hands and ended up making love after the painting was finished. When they painted together, they generated passion and were drawn irresistibly together like a candle to a flame. With each painting that they saw, Jaime couldn’t help but remember the ways they made love – how she felt under him and over him and how it incredible it felt to be moving inside her. He looked over at Brienne and noticed that she seemed extra quiet, her eyes restlessly roaming the canvases, her expression one of contemplation. Seeing the paintings also filled him with melancholy and regret. Like it or not, the paintings were evidence of the relationship they once had. A relationship that he stupidly destroyed. Seeing the paintings was painful, like watching a familiar movie and seeing the part just before it all turned to shit.

“They are still very beautiful,” Brienne murmured, half to herself. “It’s hard to imagine how we created these together, isn’t it?”

“I remember,” Jaime said softly, his eyes searching her face. “I remember too well how we surrendered – to whatever – inspiration, the muse – and how we surrendered to each other.”

Her face was inscrutable, as if she had smoothed all emotion from it. “It seems so long ago. A memory from another life.”

“Not to me.” Jaime looked at her fiercely. She gave him an unreadable look. How had Brienne become such a mystery to him?

She walked away from him, heading toward the exit. He followed her, and they said their requisite goodbyes to Dacey Mormont. 

=====

Winterfell Castle still belonged to the Starks and had for hundreds of years; it was only one hundred or so years ago that the city had leased it from the family to establish a museum about the North. The estate was large, with stone buildings and towers and a large courtyard where the small folk once lived and served the castle. Brienne tried to imagine her old professor Catelyn Stark among these walls and couldn’t; Jon Snow, who was more of a distant relation, looked like he would belong, with his curly mop of hair and trim physique. 

Much has been lost to history, of course, but the historical period was recreated with care – the grand hall that they were in was filled with tables and benches, as if ready for a feast, as a fire was roaring in the large hearth and lamps that mimicked the light of oil lamps gave the room a warm, dull glow. Goblets and jugs of wine were on the table, along with a large assortment of fake bread, roasts and sweets.

“Can’t you just imagine celebrating the end of the Long Night here?” Jaime said, his voice close to her ear. Jaime certainly looked the part of a knight, with his heroically golden looks. In this light, she could almost see him, striding into the room, bloodied and panting and coming in from battle.

“We’d be drinking strong ale, or maybe mead,” Brienne said, smiling at the thought.

“Seeing you here reminds me of the portrait of you I have on my wall that Oberyn took - you as The Blue Knight. I can see you here, in blue armor and carrying a great sword, looking down at us from your great vantage of power and strength.” Jaime’s face took on an awed expression, his words giving off a warmth that she felt in her bones.

They walked up the stairs to the battlements, where for the safety of the public, plexiglass had been placed along the walkway to protect anyone from falling or jumping.

“It’s crazy that anyone fought battles here - one could so easily fall to their deaths!” Brienne exclaimed, feeling a little queasy from the great height.

Jaime nodded in agreement, looking at the distance. “It’s hard to believe that dragons once roamed these skies.”

“They say the creatures were crucial in winning the Long Night battle against the Night King.”

“Who knows? These tales may just be a drunken fantasy of some fanciful Maester or historian.” Jaime said, admiring how the cold had whipped Brienne’s cheeks into a rosy pink. Her eyes looked even more blue in the cloudy, grey light.

“But it’s interesting how we are left with what remains - the evidence of a history that no one can remember wholly or clearly. The castle, the weapons, the books, these things are all we have left of a person and their histories.” Jaime looked at her a little wistfully.

Brienne’s gaze burned into him - a blue fire that somehow made him feel warm, even in the cool air. Her voice was low and calm and clear, audible even above the wind. “I think, sometimes, of how what will be left of us is our art. How after we die, nothing will be left of our lives except for the canvas, with its sole intention and the brief glimpse into our minds.”

He stepped a little closer to her. “Just like how our paintings will always be a record of our union, when for a brief few months we painted as one. What we had was real, Brienne. And I ruined it.”

Brienne smiled at him gently, but it seemed like her eyes were too bright. “I’m glad we have these paintings too. You’re right - what happened between us was special. We’ll always have the memories that these paintings contain, and only we will fully know what it was like.” 

She grabbed his hand, the coolness of her skin reassuring. She exhaled and gave him a kind look. “I’m not angry at you for going back to Cersei, Jaime. What happened seemed inevitable somehow. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to grab what you’ve always wanted. Besides, by doing that, you now have Tommen in your life. And he’s all the better for it because he has you now, after having lost Robert.”

He stared incredulously at her. He had thought that she would be angry at him, furious even, and he knew from her weariness around him over the past months that she was hurt by how he’d left her. But it seemed that whatever anger Brienne had for him was long gone, to be replaced by a kind of resigned acceptance. He wondered then if it was not better to have her rage against him after all, if it would be preferable to this stoical acceptance which was a wall that he could not seem to breach.

They arrived back at the hotel in time to get cleaned up and dress for the opening of the exhibit. Jaime brought his standard black suit – designer and well fitted, which he wore with a crisp shirt and skinny black tie. He knew he looked sharp – perhaps too sharp for a visual artist, but he’d always preferred to be well-dressed as opposed to his more unkempt and disheveled colleagues.

When Brienne emerged from her room, Jaime felt the breath knocked from out of him. She was also wearing a black suit, the elegant jacket close-fitting and nipped at the waist but slightly curved at the hip, and a white shirt that was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a long expanse of chest, collarbone and neck. The pants and the heels she wore made her legs look endless. She looked incredible. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he felt her gaze run over every inch of his body. It was all he could do to contain himself.

“Great minds think alike, it seems,” Jaime said, half in awe, a bright smile on his face.

“I can’t believe we’re wearing the same outfit,” Brienne said, surprise still on her face.

He had not noticed how much her hair had grown, but it hung loose now to her shoulders, the slight waves framing her face like a cloud. She was an intriguing mix of soft and hard, sharp lines and subtle curves, a black and white portrait come to life. He wondered how any fool could ever call her ugly; she was too interesting to be either pretty or ugly. Brienne was beyond looks, beyond being pretty, she was just _all_. 

The opening was well-attended, packed with the attractive, glittery and well-heeled. They did the press rounds and made their speeches. They mingled and smiled, greeting guests and patrons; he noticed with interest that Brienne seemed much more comfortable tonight than the very first opening they had attended together. Jaime also noticed with dismay, a hulking red-haired man with a thick beard who seemed to be leering at Brienne and approaching her with what Jaime thought as a series of lascivious looks. The man was loud, his laughter booming in an unpleasant way. And Jon, here without Ygritte, seemed to hug Brienne for much too long and seemed much too over familiar with his casual touches. Annoyance tugged at his spine. Jaime surrendered to his impulses, abandoning his own solo networking and instead installed himself next to Brienne, staying the rest of the night by her side and greeting people together. 

Finally, the reception was over, and guests were free to wonder the rest of the gallery. Jon and the red-haired brute, who Jaime learned was called Tormund and who was a distant cousin of Ygritte, lingered.

Jon looked at the two of them. “I have to ask: your outfits tonight - did you coordinate this? You must have.”

Brienne laughed, the wild sound of it brightening the room. “Gods, no. It was completely coincidental! Of course, Margaery helped me decide what to wear.”

“Well, you look like a very sexy secret agent,” Tormund barged in, standing a little too close to Brienne, staring up and down her legs.

She stared back at him, her expression blank. Jon cleared his throat. “Do you guys want to come over? Ygritte is working but will be back soon.”

“I’ll be there,” the ginger giant exclaimed. Suddenly, Ygritte’s not-so-subtle inquiry about if Brienne was dating anyone made sense. Yet how could she - or _anyone_ for that matter - think that this wildling would be good enough for the wench? The thought of it was ridiculous. Yet a part of him couldn’t help but wonder.

She gave Jaime a rather trapped glance, but eventually shook her head apologetically. “I’m afraid we have an early flight, and I’m pretty tired after this evening. I’m not used to talking to so many people.”

Jon nodded, taking her hand and holding it far too long. He whispered in her ear and she nodded.

“Jaime,” Brienne said casually, “I’ll meet you in the car in a few minutes, ok? I just want to talk to Jon for a second.”

He nodded. Tormund sighed beside him. “I knew I’d never have a chance with a woman like her.” The alarming man looked at him and clapped him energetically in the back. “She only has eyes for pretty Southron boys like you.”

Jaime gave the man a crooked grin and nodded, though inside he was confused and vaguely hopeful that a complete stranger made such an observation.

Jaime left and walked toward the parking lot; he spotted Brienne embracing Jon and giving him a kiss goodbye, and he was all at once glad that Jon was up here in Winterfell; he didn’t think he could handle the unease and twinge of jealousy at seeing them together, even though they were now just friends. She started walking toward him and the car, and he noticed that she was carrying what looked like a wrapped painting. Jaime knew instantly what it was.

“Did Jon give you his portrait of you?” Jaime called out, as soon as she was near enough to hear him. 

“He did.” Brienne’s cheeks were pink. “Even though I don’t like looking at myself, I rather liked how he painted me.” She giggled. “I’m glad it finally occurred to him to think of giving it to me. He held onto it for much too long.”

“I offered to buy the painting, you know. At any price.” He still wanted to own it, if he were honest with himself.

She grinned. “He told me. He said he rejected you completely.”

“It rather was cold. And cruel,” Jaime jested, half-serious. “Though I would buy it off you, if you’d let me.”

Brienne laughed and stored the painting in the back seat of the car.

=====

When they arrived back at the hotel, Brienne changed to her t-shirt and shorts that she had slept in the night before. It really was remarkable, she thought, how she and Jaime practically wore the same outfit to the event. Of course he looked far better in his suit than she did in hers, although she had to admit that wearing it made her feel powerful and unusually attractive. She saw immediately the effect it had on Jaime, and it seemed to fascinate that strange red-haired friend of Jon’s. Of course, throughout the night, her eyes were helplessly drawn to Jaime, and noticed without surprise how many pretty, wealthy women had approached him. She had also noticed with a frown how they pawed at him and leant so close that their breasts were rubbing against his arm. Jaime seemed to take it in stride – of course this kind of thing happened to him all the time. It was with a strange relief that she noticed that after a while, he stayed near her and they began greeting attendees together. 

She also realized that there must have been rumours about them – the paintings themselves were already a sign there might have been something between them, and she supposed them turning up in matching clothes must have fueled the gossip that they were _involved_ , especially now that Jaime was again single. Still, it seemed a little ridiculous to her, that someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Jaime would ever want to be with her. A logical part of her brain reminded her of those brief months they had together – it wasn’t a total impossibility, she supposed. But she had framed that time as a bit of creative madness, a brief fling that confused painting and sex; it was entirely different from someone like him choosing to be with her in a real relationship.

When they entered the hotel, Jaime had playfully suggested that they try out the hot springs, which were still open. Brienne was tempted; it seemed a waste to come to Winterfell and not sample the springs, but she remembered that she had no swimsuit and she hardly wanted a repeat of the hot tub confessions of the night before. In any case, it seemed a little too dangerous and much too tempting to be partially clothed in the presence of Jaime.

When she came out of her room Jaime was in sweats, lounging on the sofa, a bottle of sparkling rosé wine in an ice bucket and two glass tumblers in front of them.

“I ordered food for us,” Jaime said, his eyes moving up and down her body, lingering at her bare legs. “Those art openings never have enough food. And I opened a bottle of wine, since you didn’t get to drink because you were driving.”

She gave him a grateful look and plopped down near him. “Gods, thank you. I actually didn’t have a chance to eat anything - too many people wanting to talk.” She poured both of them a glass.

“It did go well, didn’t it?” She handed him the wine and sipped on her own. She felt her entire body relax and unspool itself from the tension of the event. 

“It did,” Jaime nodded, taking a sip and smiling softly. “I dare say the show’s been more well-received than most of my solo ones. But then, the paintings are better, so….”

She shook her head. “They’re not better, just different. Even _I_ feel it. There’s a forthrightness, an immediacy of feeling that hits you in the face.”

“I think it reminds people of what it’s like to be in love,” Jaime said, looking at her boldly. His eyes were wistful, and he was holding her gaze far too long.

She dared not look away.

There was a knock on the door. Jaime startled and got up, letting in the hotel staff roll in two carts laden with food. He tipped them quickly and they left.

“Gods Jaime, what did you order? This looks enormous.”

Jaime grinned, bringing the food to the coffee table. “Oh, a little bit of everything: shrimp cocktail, steak, a burger, fries, salad, and of course desserts.”

As she looked at the array of food before her, she realized she really _was_ hungry. They could have been more civilized about it, she thought, since there was a dining table in the suite. But like a teenager, she plopped herself on the floor in front of the coffee table and dug in. Jaime joined in, regarding her with amusement as she inelegantly stuffed her face and stared at her as loud moans of pleasures escaped her as she ate.

They were sprawled on the couch, sated, their bellies full. Brienne felt a pleasant buzz in her veins. Somehow, she found herself leaning against Jaime, her torso next to his and her legs folded beside her on the couch. He felt solid, relaxed and warm; his fingers were idly running through her hair. She sighed contentedly.

“Tell me about what you’re painting, Jaime.” Brienne sat up a little and looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Well, the good news is that I _am_ painting. For a while, I thought I would never paint again – I didn’t, you know for about eight months. My life was madness. I was stuck. I was selling my image for money. Things blew up with Cersei.” He looked at her wryly. “You must have heard – I caught her in bed with another man, she got married to that same man months later.”

Brienne nodded. She had known his relationship with Cersei fell apart and she had quickly married another man, but she had not heard that he caught her in the act. 

“Olenna filled me in, but not – not the specific circumstances. I’m so sorry Jaime – I knew how much you loved her.”

He stared at her, green eyes like embers. “To be perfectly honest, I was glad it happened – I should have ended it myself, it _clearly_ wasn’t working – in retrospect, it never worked, but I wanted to try because of Tommen. Anyway, in all the mess I made myself go to my studio every day. At the beginning I just sat outside, looking at the thicket of trees beside the road. Then I started to bring my easel and paints outside and decided to paint that thicket. Then I started painting the same plot of land every time I came to the studio. I noticed subtle changes over time – changes in light, movement of the trees in the breeze, especially when the season started to change.” He looked at her. “I’ve been doing this for months and months now. The work is different from my usual style – looser, less realistic. I’m not sure if there is a point to it. But it helped heal me and helped me think about my life.”

She turned to him fully, a spark of light in her eyes. She was excited by the sound of his new work. “I remember admiring that bit of trees, it's rather beautiful. It sounds incredible, Jaime. In fact, I’ve been wanting to do something similar, you know, paint the ocean or the clouds, track it over a long period of time.” She gave a small sigh. “I’d love to see your paintings.”

Jaime ran his fingers up and down the cap of her shoulders, his hands warm through her thin t-shirt. “You should come to the studio – no one has seen them, but I’d love to show them to you first. Though they’re probably nothing, just sketches really.”

“I will – I want to – that sounds good.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to Tarth for a bit after this, but I’m sure I’ll be back in town before too long.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “Is that where you’re living now, Tarth? I remember you once telling me you didn’t want to live there.”

She chuckled. “I did. Well, it turned out that city life had its share of disappointments for me. I wanted a bit of quiet and peace. Then I thought about my dad and how I left so quickly after his death. I ran away and ignored everything. Our family home was sold and I just packed up and came to King’s Landing for school.” 

Jaime took her hand and held it, surprising her. His face was gentle and attentive. She continued. “I’m living in a beach house that my dad had nearly finished building before he died – I mean, it’s not directly on the beach, but near enough to the ocean. It just sat there empty for years while I was in the city – luckily family friends kept it maintained. I’ve been fixing it up, with some help, of course. I really love it.” She smiled. “But I’m also still sharing the rent in the apartment with Jon, so both of us have a place to stay any time we want to be in the city.”

“I’d like to see Tarth one day. To see where you live, where you come from.” Jaime leaned closer, his thumb rubbing her hand back and forth.

“There’s really not much to it. But you might find it peaceful.” Brienne was far from peaceful as she stared at the impossibly attractive man before her – the sharpness of his jawline, emphasized even more by his short beard, the glittering eyes, the softness in his face. She thought to herself that she could never hate this man, even if he did break her heart nearly two years ago. There was something about him and something about her when she was with him that made her feel desirable, wanted, and completely _seen_. She couldn’t lie to herself and say that she never thought about Jaime or the way he made her feel during their brief time together. Memories of Jaime came to her, in the dead of night, for example, even though she consciously shooed away those thoughts of him. Of course she invariably thought about him; he was the first man she had truly, wholly loved – really the only one so far. There was a reason that she avoided relationships after Jaime – she felt she needed to guard her heart from potentially feeling such disappointment ever again.

But now, he was with her, touching her hand, his face so close, leaning closer, and gods, she wanted him again, wanted to remember and feel just a little of what they had. Even after all this time, she felt incredibly drawn to him. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she couldn’t help but edge closer. She leaned into him, closer and closer to his warmth, his face, until their lips touched, first softly, almost delicately. She felt his breath against her mouth. She pressed her lips fully to his now, and he immediately responded with a contented sigh, as he wrapped his arms around her and their lips and bodies seemed to melt into each other; she felt warm and safe, as if her body were floating. Her body thrummed with longing.

She was straddling him on the couch now, and he was grunting into her neck as he kissed and licked her throat and pulled her hips down to his. He was already rock hard and straining in his pants, and she couldn’t resist rubbing her aching core against his erection, jolts of sweet sensation making her cunt pure heat and liquid. He groaned, his hips bucking gently under her.

“Gods, Brienne,” Jaime was murmuring into her skin as he planted kisses on her neck and pulled down the collar of her t-shirt to reveal her collarbone. “I missed this so much, I missed _you_.”

His words brought her back to reality, just a little. She pulled herself back and looked intently at him. He paused, his eyes dark with lust and confusion, his lips pink and wet from kissing. 

“Jaime - what are we doing? I don’t know what you want from me – I don’t know if I can give you what you want –”

He stared at her, his eyes wide. He pulled her closer, sending a bolt of pleasure as he rubbed hard against her core. “Brienne – I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. But right now, I just want _you_.”

That was all it took.

They stumbled their way to Jaime’s bedroom, losing their clothes in between searing kisses. Their initial gentleness was gone, burned away as they clutched at each other, rediscovering the familiar places of each other they had once known so intimately. Jaime nuzzled and kissed her breasts and nipples until she was arching and moaning into him. He hissed when he reached between her legs to find her completely soaked; he plunged two fingers into her while his thumb rubbed her clit with insistence, and she felt like she was being tuned to a frequency that threatened to break her immediately. She came quickly, shuddering and gasping as he kissed her wetly with an open mouth and tongue.

He was desperately hard, the tip of his cock a deep red and jutting up as he lay on the bed. Brienne felt her arousal running down her thighs and she ached to be filled. She straddled him, and he looked up at her as if he were starving. He was sweaty and glistening and his body was hard and muscular under her. Jaime’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he groaned obscenely when she held the base of his cock and sunk down on him in one quick motion. 

“Fuck, Gods,” Jaime moaned, looking up at her face in awe. His hands were everywhere as she rode him, pinching her breasts, cupping her ass, around her waist and pulling her down harder on him as he bucked up deeper into her. It was even more intense than she remembered; he filled her completely and his cock seemed thrust at the perfect spot that made her want to scream, and her clit was grinding against him as she moved against his cock, and soon enough it was too much, the pressure on her cunt was unbearable, bringing her to the edge and plunging her into the depths of pleasure, making her loudly moan and shake above and around him. He grabbed at her hip hard now, thrusting up rough and fast and desperate into her until he too, with a strangled cry, swelled and filled her over and over.

She collapsed against him, entirely spent, tingles of pleasure running up and down her legs. They were breathing hard and he held her against him until their breaths slowed.

“I love you, Brienne.” Jaime’s voice was soft and lazy with exhaustion. He kissed her warm forehead. 

She rolled off him and he pulled her face toward him and kissed her long and sweetly. She looked at his soft eyes, the relaxed, affectionate face, and didn’t dare say anything. He smiled, then pulled her body against his, his arms around her. He arranged blankets around them. She was tired, her body pulling her to sleep. She felt a wave of contentment wash over her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy Jaime’s familiar embrace.

=====

Jaime woke several times that night, reassured each time by the sight of Brienne’s sleeping form beside him, her soft breathing and occasional little snuffles. By the dim light of the faint moon he could see her long back, the cascade of her light hair on the pillow, the curve of her hip under the covers. The sight and feel of her beside him lulled him back to a sweet sleep.

The morning filled the room with a grey light. Jaime remained on the edges of dream, his mind idly turning to the events of the night before – he and Brienne, the sweetness of her kisses, the ferocity of her riding him until he was completely spent. His cock stirred from the memory. He opened his eyes, wanting to pull her close, but when he did, he saw that the other side of the bed was empty. He felt the bed. It was cold. She had slipped out, had not wanted to wake up next to him, perhaps. Jaime sighed, dragging himself up to sitting. He felt suddenly empty. Melancholic.

He took a shower and dressed comfortably for the flight in jeans and a brown sweater. Of course, she had promised him nothing. She had warned him as much before they had made love. But he had still wanted her, and he had taken whatever she could give him, and that would have to be enough. That thought did not help the hollowness he felt in his chest.

When he came out of his bedroom with his luggage, she was already packed, her bag next to the door. She was drinking coffee. At his appearance, she blushed a deep pink, and turned to the coffee machine to pour him a cup of coffee.

They sat facing each other on the dining table.

“You left my bed in the middle of the night.” Jaime didn’t want his tone to be accusing, but he could not hide some reproach in his tone.

She looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry – I woke up early in the morning, and I didn’t want – didn’t want the scene of us waking up together.”

Jaime wanted to forgive her for anything. He hated that she was apologizing. He just wanted her. “Listen, if it’s about what I said last night –”

“What you said –”

“I told you I love you.” He searched her face and found slight weariness and tenderness there.

“Jaime, it doesn’t –”

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter, because it does to me. I meant what I said, Brienne. _I love you_. And I know I’ve been a fool about it and blew my chance to be with you because of what I did, but it doesn’t change the fact that I adore you and want to be with you.” He wanted to touch her, take her hand, _anything_ , but the table was between them, vast as the Narrow Sea.

She drew a breath and regarded him with a serious expression, her eyes wide and bright and blue.

“Jaime. I’ve loved you for a long time. I think you knew it, especially when I drunkenly confessed to you that night.” She shook her head now, gazing at him mournfully. “But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be with you.” She looked down at her hands, then up into his eyes again. “I don’t know how to explain this – but I need to keep myself whole. I can’t give any more of myself away, especially not to you. I just can’t.”

Jaime would be lying if he said it didn’t feel like his heart was being crushed slowly. The pain spilled and spread through him like a bloodstain. She was right, of course, he had known all the time that they were together that she loved him, and loved him with an abandon that she was unused to and yet loved him anyway. He hadn’t expected it and never demanded it, but she loved him anyway, despite all his scars. He hadn’t expected her love, and in the end he didn’t know what to do with it. He had opened her up and she had willingly given all she had to him, and he had taken and taken. At the time, the knowledge that she wanted and loved him made him glad and happy, but a part of him still belonged to Cersei. And so events played out the way it did. It was his fault. He had made a choice to leave her. He had lost her trust. He did not deserve to have it back.

“I don’t regret what happened last night,” Brienne said, looking at him almost too kindly. “I missed you. I missed being with you, and last night – last night was...better than I’d even remembered.”

Jaime nodded, a little sadly. “Brienne,” he said finally. “I won’t demand anything from you. But I would like us to be friends. I know I have no right to your heart.”

She got up then, and stood next to him. She touched his shoulder, his hair, and he impulsively clutched her torso to him, his head on her abdomen. He felt her crumple a little, as she drew her arms around his head and neck, soothing and comforting him with her touches. 

“Friends, then,” she murmured, stroking his hair.

“Friends.” Jaime repeated, tightening his arms even closer around her.


	18. EIGHTEEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

The two years since Jaime broke her heart had been a time of growth for Brienne, both artistically and personally. While she had shuttered that romantic part of herself – right after it happened, she had told herself never to be so vulnerable and needy for another person ever again – other parts of herself expanded. Her work was _good_ – she felt she was getting deeper and deeper into her art, and she was moving beyond the paint on the canvas to a place of simple feeling. It was exciting to discover all a painted line could contain. She was barely lonely. After Jaime, she’d found familiar, sweet comfort in Jon and had found a lover who relished her unusual body in Oberyn. Neither men demanded much from her beyond friendship and sex, which honestly suited her.

Tarth was a new step. Before he died, her dad had built a modest two-storey wooden house, with simple straight lines, a sloped roof and large windows that had views of the nearby sea. It had been his retirement plan. There were two bedrooms and a little office, a bathroom and small kitchen and living area with a wood-burning stove for warmth. The upstairs was mainly one giant room with a sloped ceiling. Brienne had transformed this space to her studio, painted the walls white and installed a sink along with rows of shelves for storage. She had rolls of Tarth canvas – originally used for the sails of the isle’s ships – that she would use later to stretch over frames for her paintings. Brienne’s life on Tarth was quiet and peaceful and exactly what she needed to create new work. Mr. Goodwin, the family friend who had looked after the house in her absence, came to check on her from time to time, bringing her the fresh catch from the docks or a casserole or two from his wife. 

The island was still sparsely populated, the population consisting of locals who’d lived there for generations. In the summer, there’d be an influx of mainlanders coming to enjoy their summer houses and cottages, bringing sudden crowds and a buzz of activity in the towns. But since they were still moving out of winter, the isle was sedate and felt a little isolated. While it was never cold enough for snow on Tarth, cloudy skies and occasional bursts of storms were typical.

Brienne was driving to the ferry to pick up Oberyn, who was tasked with an assignment for the art magazine, _Art Moderne_. Olenna, wizard that she was, arranged a feature photo essay about Brienne and her new exhibit, with a side focus on Jaime and their collaboration together. For an emerging artist relatively fresh out of art school, this was a major deal, as Olenna repeatedly impressed upon her. To ease her discomfort, the magazine hired Oberyn to take the photographs, which was another major boon; if not for their previous history of collaboration and their personal friendship, an artist of Oberyn’s reputation would never have stooped to do a magazine story.

The dark and mysterious-looking man stepped off the ferry, carrying a worn green backpack, a camera hanging from his neck. He was windblown, tanned, and tight with muscle – a devastatingly sexy man, even in his mid-forties. He waved at her and grinned as he strode quickly toward her. He paused to take pictures of her standing by her old pickup truck.

“Already at work?” Brienne said, hugging him in greeting.

“Just because you are such a sight with this beat-up old truck of yours,” Oberyn purred, flirting shamelessly and pulling her into a long kiss.

“I’ve wanted to see your island for a long time. To see the lands that raised such a unique creature.” His dark eyes twinkled. 

“How are Ellaria and your girls?” Brienne asked, smiling. It was good to see him. His intelligence and honesty - he simply demanded nothing from her, which was always a relief.

“Happy to have escaped the Westerosi cold in Dorne,” he said. “Ellaria says hello and implored me to give you a kiss from her.”

He climbed into her truck with ease, his every movement fluid and confident.

“Well, I feel very lucky that you’ve agreed to do this assignment, Oberyn. I know you don’t do this kind of thing anymore.”

He huffed. “Why on earth would I turn down an offer to take photographs of the most intriguing artist in Westeros?”

Brienne chuckled and shook her head at him affectionately. He really was too much sometimes.

Unlike their previous sessions, Oberyn didn’t want to pose her or make the composition or framing too contrived. Instead, he photographed her in natural light, in her natural setting. She drove them to the cliffs of Tarth and he took photographs of her by the rocks, on the beach, framed by the sea. When she drove them home, he captured her painting, frowning in concentration at the canvas. For a few shots, he even convinced her to paint in nothing but a white men’s shirt which only just covered her ass. 

Oberyn stared at her barely covered legs and slowly put down his camera. He walked toward her, power stalking his every step. As always, she was overwhelmed by the look of lust in his eyes, the small twist of his full mouth. He fell to his knees, started kissing her thighs and pulled down her underwear. It was just like after the first time he photographed her, when he fell to his knees, but now he licked and devoured her, pulling her cunt closer, his hands greedy and demanding on her ass. Gods, he knew her body, and it didn’t take long for him to pull the orgasm out of her, not once, not twice, but three times.

Brienne was weak-kneed and collapsed onto the wooden floor, pulling at Oberyn’s shirt and pants. He sunk into her with a groan, his thrusts urgent and needy, gasping and needing his release.

Later that night in bed, both of them naked, Oberyn kissed and licked every part of her. His kisses were different, soft and sweet, and Brienne yielded to him just as sweetly. As he entered her and moved inside her, his eyes never left her face, as one of his hands stroked at her clit until she broke open, the waves of pleasure increasing with every hard thrust. He peaked with her, his face contorted, pouring himself into her as he looked into her eyes.

They lay together, hot and entangled.

“Something’s different this time,” Oberyn said as he gently traced the curve of her breast.

“I felt it too,” Brienne said, giving him a soft kiss. In their union, there had been an unusual emotion and tenderness.

He gave her a long look. “Far be it for me to bring another man in the bed, but I photographed Jaime for the story last week.”

“Did you?” Her chest gave a little undefinable twist.

“Something happened between you two, didn’t it?” His hand stroked the long curve of her neck and lingered at her collarbone.

She closed her eyes for a second. Stayed silent. Oberyn regarded her silently, his dark eyes knowing. 

“He loves you. It surprised me how apparent it was when I visited him. I had thought perhaps that he was fixated on you – you know, the way an artist gets – he has that tendency, but that wasn’t it. He seemed strangely resigned not to be with you. The Jaime I knew would have gone after the woman he loved relentlessly, but this Jaime seemed determined to love you at a distance in what seems like an effort to spare you of his own inadequacies.”

Brienne frowned. She remembered Jaime’s confession of love in Winterfell almost two months ago. “I don’t know what to think or how to feel about Jaime. Everything with him is complicated. Whereas what we have….”

“Is simple. I understand. It’s easier to have an arrangement with me than to risk being in a real relationship again. Brienne, you knew from the beginning that I was with Ellaria and that we have a certain arrangement with each other. There was no risk of me trying to have you all to myself or vice versa. We never wanted to belong to each other. But Jaime, it seems, wants to _belong_ to you, despite his determined resolution to leave you alone.”

She stared at Oberyn. The words that came out of her were low, almost a whisper. “I don’t know if I can trust him again. I’m afraid.” Brienne’s eyes were wide, perplexed.

Oberyn tilted his head and looked at her. “I think a part of you knows. Your body knows. That’s why this time it feels like this trip is the last time I’ll get to make love to you.” He sighed, sounding disappointed. “I know we’ll still be friends and I hope you’ll continue to pose for me. But I’ll miss fucking you, Brienne. I’ll miss your taste on my tongue.”

He pulled her into his arms now, holding her, his body flush and warm against her. Brienne was confused – she _did_ feel a goodbye in their kisses and the sweetness with which they came together. It was odd and sad, and she didn’t know how to react. Had something really changed between them? Had that something been Jaime? Had _she_ changed? She had no answers, but fell asleep with Oberyn holding her.

Oberyn left the next morning, after they showered together and he took her from behind, wild and passionate, his hand pressing the front of her cunt. The both came explosively as the water pounded on their backs. He took a few last photographs of her with her hair wet, barely covered by a towel, not for the story, he said, but for himself. They said goodbye with long, deep kisses, a taste of sadness bittersweet in their mouths.

After he left, Brienne turned to her painting, feeling physically satiated and a little wrung out.

Painting was like pulling something out of herself and putting it on the canvas. When she looked at the layers of colour, she saw her heart, which was once a wounded thing, but which now beat and throbbed, vibrant and living.

She looked at the ocean. She thought about Oberyn. She thought most of all about Jaime, as the waves rolled and glittered in the light of the sun.

=====

The colour black had always been tricky in painting – there existed so many variations of the shade, but one had to look closely to see the differences in the amount of shadow they contained. Jaime was learning much about how light mixed with darkness when he was working on his new paintings. After Winterfell, the urge to return to his refined, ultra-realistic style returned. While he painted his woody thicket in the early mornings with wild, free brushstrokes, the rest of the morning and afternoon was for hunkering down in front of the canvas, with the palette of blacks, blues, greys and whites, meticulously trying to capture the light of the moon, the twist of sheets, the curves of emptiness. He had never painted so much before, had never been so utterly absorbed.

When he returned to his apartment, he had Tommen, a curious and bright child who had a sweetness and kindness of heart that made Jaime ache. He looked so much like Jaime, the honey blond hair, the bright green eyes, the contemplative air. The boy spent much of the time with Jaime, with Cersei demanding his presence in a random, haphazard way. Jaime was glad to learn that her new marriage had a mollifying effect on his cousin - Euron somehow had the ability to excite and engage her, and she mostly left Tommen to his own devices at home, with the help of a new nanny. Euron, he also learned, could be playful and fun with the boy, especially when the man was bored and had nothing to do. Euron, it seemed, always felt the need to impress, and a little boy was as good an audience as any.

He tried not to think of Brienne, but she was something that would not go away, her presence evident inside him like a heartbeat. They had exchanged friendly texts since Winterfell, and he knew she’d be back in town in a couple of weeks to prepare for her solo show at Roseheart. He missed her too much, and relived the night in Winterfell with a fond and poignant sadness.

He was glad for that night in the hotel room, to have been with her one last time; he saw their making love as a farewell of sorts, a sign that he needed to let go, not grasp at her even though he still loved her with all of his being. He scolded himself for being blind, for not seeing his happiness when he was first with Brienne for what it was: love. Instead he had been deluded about Cersei and fixated on his fantasies of their life together. Stuck on twenty years of dependency and pain and cruelty, all mistaken for him as true love. In truth, he had to come to terms with the fact that he did not know what love was; he didn’t know that love wasn’t all manipulation and power, with the occasional violence and cruelty thrown in for variety.

Brienne’s kindness impressed him from the first. She gave him her love and he stupidly didn’t recognize it. She was more than his equal in art, and by far his superior in decency and goodness. Not a day passed when he didn’t regret his stupid decision to break up with Brienne, even though Tommen was in his life now. Everything was mixed up in his head, but now he felt he had slowly emerged from the muck, a muddied creature that had undergone an evolution of the spirit. Still muddied and stained, but yet changed. Brienne had said she couldn’t be with him, and he had to accept that. He was _determined_ to accept that. Most of all, he wanted her to be happy; he hoped that the wounds he inflicted on her would heal, that she would fully love again and be whole, with or without him.

It had been painful to see Oberyn when he came to the studio one afternoon to photograph him for the photo essay. The man looked at him knowingly, at times even pityingly, and seemed less than surprised at finding Brienne’s paintings all over the walls of his studio. Of course, Jaime’s mind was half-occupied with imagining the wench in this handsome, sexy man’s embrace. It made him half mad, made all the worse by Oberyn’s kindness and apparent understanding of his unrequited feelings for their mutual lover.

Jaime had even tried once to go out on date, someone Tyrion had set him up with. Hildy was brunette and slim and curvy and had a body most men would drool over; she was kind, though in a bland, overly eager way. He had tried his best – she seemed entranced by him, and by the end of the night she kissed him and earnestly rubbed his cock through his pants. It ended with her unbuckling his belt and going down on her knees in front of him, but he had stilled her movement before she could take his unenthusiastic cock out, and handed her a drink instead, letting her down gently. She was disappointed, but left the date still convinced that he was a gentleman. He asked Tyrion never to set him up again. His heart was a stubborn thing and would not move from its affections. 

He lost himself in painting, an all-consuming, exhilarating feeling that he hadn’t had since he painted with Brienne two years ago. He felt alive, and vital, and more himself as he’d never been. The results on the canvas surprised him. For the first time, he was painting works on his own that were free of Cersei or any of her shadows. He knew for certain that he had gotten over his old lover then, from the way she disappeared from his artworks. His hands wanted to draw and paint something else entirely.

=====

He sat in a back booth at San Souci, letting the delicate trills of the piano wash over him, a glass of deep amber sazerac in his hand. He was there early – too early – but he thought he’d calm his nerves with an initial drink. As it turned out, he was barely half finished with his drink when she walked in, wearing slim white trousers and a white silky blouse, on top of which she sported her familiar black leather motorcycle jacket. Her hair hung down her shoulders in fluffy waves. Her lips were painted a deep blue red. He felt a thrill when she caught his eye. Her smile was at once shy and kind.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, sliding in next to him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then blushed when she looked at him and saw the bright imprint of her lipstick on his skin above his beard. She gently rubbed it away, the heat of her hands spreading a warmth to his skin. He couldn’t help but smile at her.

“You look lovely,” Jaime said, unabashedly fond. She slipped off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless blouse, a plain white thing that showed off the curve of her shoulder and the muscled leanness of her arms. He had to suppress the urge to run his hands along those muscles. But gods, he really wanted to.

She ordered a negroni when the waiter came by.

“How was Tarth?” He imagined how her eyes would look against the backdrop of the island’s sapphire waters.

Her expression turned dreamy and serene. “Good. Peaceful. The studio is set up and I’ve settled in. The spring was quiet, but now that the weather’s getting warmer, mainlanders are starting to come over.”

“Hence your escape.” Jaime smirked.

She gave a half-giggle. “Well, I did have to be in town for work, of course. But yes, summer can be a bit much on the island. But luckily I’m in the northern part of the island, away from Evenfall. Fewer people visit there, so it’s still pretty secluded except when you venture into town.”

“Ah, Tarth,” Jaime sighed wistfully. “It must be lovely there now.”

Her blue eyes regarded him calmly. “It is.” She paused and bit her lip a little nervously. “You should come visit. I have a spare room. Bring Tommen.”

Perhaps he held her gaze for too long, because she blushed and looked away, sipping at her negroni. Gods, he adored her blushes, how the light pink transformed from a delicate to a deeper pink, intensifying over her cheeks and neck. He wondered if he had the skill enough to capture that particular tint on a canvas.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Jaime said lightly, not wanting to frighten her too much about how much he wanted to be there with her.

He tilted his head and looked at her. “In the meantime, come to the studio, see my new work. You said you’d visit back in Winterfell.” His mind flashed to that time: the hot tub, and the night after, when she had offered him her body, which he very gladly took.

She nodded, her glance bright at the thought of seeing his new work.

They ended up back at his apartment. It wasn’t as if his intentions were dishonorable; he just wanted to prolong his time with her, and in any case, Tommen would be there with Tyrion, who was babysitting the boy tonight. Brienne entered the apartment tentatively, as if nervous of what she may find there. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Oberyn’s picture of her in armor and wielding a sword, but said nothing. Jaime shrugged and gave her a grin.

Tommen looked up from the TV and burst into a smile, galloping to Brienne and looking up at her with wide, shy eyes. 

“Brienne, the Blue Knight,” he said, his smile growing wider. She chuckled.

“Tommen, you’ve grown taller and taller every time I see you. You might even be taller than your dad one day.”

The boy beamed. “I want to be as tall and strong as you, Brienne.” 

A black cat came up to the boy and looked up at her curiously, sniffing the air.

The boy laughed. “Ser Pounce, this is Brienne, who painted your portrait. Brienne, this is Ser Pounce.”

Brienne smiled and crouched to the ground, offering her fingers for the creature to sniff. Ser Pounce came closer and sniffed and rubbed her hand against his soft head. When she pet him, he started to immediately purr.

“He likes you. Of course, you both are fellow knights,” he said thoughtfully, smiling at the Ser Pounce’s evident approval of Brienne.

“Brienne,” Tyrion said, waving from the couch, beckoning her to join him. “Has my brother been behaving himself this evening?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaime scowled at Tyrion, draping his jacket over a dining room chair.

“He seemed to be on his best behaviour,” returned Brienne, smiling teasingly at Jaime.

Tommen squeezed in between her and Tyrion and motioned them to pay attention to the TV. Apparently he and Tyrion had been watching the popular baking show competition, _Best Bakers of Westeros_.

“It’s Tommen’s favourite show,” Jaime said sheepishly to Brienne as he sat down on the nearby armchair.

“Shhhh,” the boy admonished his father, giving him a stern look of warning. Jaime stifled a laugh.

He had wanted perhaps for the night to go in a little more romantic fashion, but he marveled at how comfortable Brienne looked in his apartment, sitting on the couch between his brother and his son. She felt right in his home, just like her paintings did. She sent him an amused look as Ser Pounce jumped into Jaime’s lap and started to knead his claws into him a little too painfully before settling into a ball.

=====

Left and Right, as Olenna called her identical twin staff members, waited in the car as the older woman entered Jaime’s studio. She strode in energetically, dressed in a loosely cut dark green pantsuit; she looked sharply around, her eyes instantly falling on the stacks of new work which were slotted into large shelves of his invention, with room enough between each painting for the canvases to dry slowly.

“New work?” Olenna asked, her expression intrigued.

Jaime nodded, but he steered her up the stairs. “Yes, but no one has seen it yet.”

“Not even Margaery?” 

He shook his head. “Soon,” he said simply, which seemed to mollify her just a little.

The apartment and studio upstairs were largely unchanged – Jaime had added a twin bed in the studio in case Tommen slept over, but the furniture was where Brienne had left it.

“Ah, there they are,” Olenna said, looking up at the two Brienne Tarth paintings that Jaime had gotten from her. She had come to pick up the paintings for Brienne’s solo show in less than two months. With the opening of the final collaborative exhibit in the Museum of Modern Art and Brienne’s exhibit at her own Roseheart, the Tyrells had quite a bit of work ahead of them.

“Magnificent.” She turned to him. “These paintings are what she did in art school? Remarkable.”

Jaime nodded in agreement. He had intended to move the paintings back to his apartment, but he found that he liked coming up here when he needed a break from his own work downstairs. Looking at her paintings calmed his mood and settled his mind.

“My offer to buy these off you still stands, if you’re interested.” She looked sharply at him. “But you aren’t, are you? And never will be.” She walked to another wall and looked closely at the portrait of Jaime that Brienne painted before she left the studio.

“Now, this is interesting. This is you, undoubtedly - the likeness is uncanny. But your expression here - you look like you're happily in love.” She turned to him. “Brienne did this too?”

“A farewell gift,” Jaime said mildly. 

“I want to include it in the show. May I?”

Jaime shrugged. “Sure, might as well. You didn’t know she could paint figures, did you?”

Olenna sniffed. “That woman continually surprises me, I’ll give her that.” She stared closely at the painting, leaning forward, and frowned. She huffed. “I guess she really did love you. I wondered.”

Left and Right came in after Olenna called them and carefully wrapped the three paintings and carried them out to the van. And just like that, the sources of comfort disappeared from his life. The studio felt empty devoid of the paintings; he felt restless and regretful. His life seemed sometimes like a huge knot – he wanted to go back to the past and change things, but he knew that if he changed it, other aspects of his life would unravel. He fully regretted going back to Cersei, but if he didn’t he wouldn’t have had Tommen be his son. It bothered him that in his mind, it felt in retrospect like he needed to break Brienne’s heart in order to have his son in his life. Of course, logically, it may have not been like that; Tyrion had said as much to him at the time. But looking back, the choices for him were too black and white, unguarded, leading to the unknowing sacrifice of the things he loved most in the world.

=====

The little patch of trees and shrubs were vibrant and green, wildflowers dotting white and purple blotches on the ground. Some branches hung low, heavy with shiny leaves. Up above, clouds hung motionless in an expanse of deep blue. Brienne looked at the thicket, and saw how Jaime had gotten lost in the universe of it. It was lovely. There was a perfect view of it through the studio window.

He was showing her the paintings as he pulled them out for her to look at, all fifty-two of them, one for each week of the year. Each painting was of the same thicket, painted at the same time of the morning over a period of a year. Each one beautiful and gentle and subtly different from each other. And as they accumulated, one could see the changes in the seasons and in the variations of light, the foliage, the colours of the sky. Flowers amidst a riot of green. The intense yellowing of the edges of leaves withering in late summer. Bare branches in a grey and lonely winter. The series of paintings were a remarkable achievement, and the entirety of the work took her breath away. The style was not typical of Jaime, though it was not as loose and wild as the paintings they had done together. The brushstrokes were free but disciplined, as if they were instinctive and yet still a product of great contemplation.

Jaime was carefully watching her reaction as she looked at the array of canvases laid out on the floor before her.

“I’m overwhelmed,” she began, her eyes wide. “These are amazing, Jaime. Beautiful and perceptive and makes you really _look_. I can’t imagine the level dedication and commitment it took to do this project.” She bit her lips in frustration. Her words failed to describe the exquisite pleasure of seeing these paintings, all in a row, all at once. She had forgotten how – how bloody _good_ Jaime was as an artist. He had been one of the reasons why she wanted to become a painter. The way he could _see_ – he simply astonished her.

Jaime exhaled loudly and smiled with relief, shoulders relaxing. I’m glad you like them, Brienne. You’re the first one I’ve shown any of these paintings to, and you’re the only person that I care about knowing the opinion of, to be honest.”

“Really? Why me?” She gave him a bemused look.

Jaime paused, hesitant. He lowered his eyes, almost shyly. “Because I respect your talent and instinct. Because you are the only one who has ever understood me. The _only_ one.”

He looked at her now, his expression slack and open, his mouth vulnerable and eyes impassioned. “And I think I understand you too, at least a little. I know I’ve been a blind fool for the past two years, but when I first saw you years ago, something in me recognized something in you. I – I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but it feels like we see art and possibly in each other. It also amazed me that when I first met you, you were utterly convinced that there was more to me than overhyped artistic bravado, despite my infamous reputation. You saw the good in me that I had obscured with years and age and selfish impulses. _No one_ had ever done that before.”

Brienne looked at him, her expression surprised at the sincerity of his words. “It wasn’t hard, Jaime. It was clear to me exactly who you were – and I’m glad that you recognize that man in yourself at last. He was always there. Always _you_.”

The windows of his heart felt like they had been thrown wide open. He felt the air, the sun, the wind flow through him. He stepped toward her and unexpectedly embraced her, his arms wrapping around her, his pulse racing. “How can I not love you, Brienne? It’s an impossibility. I’ve learned about myself because of you. I’ve freed myself because of you.”

She gasped, and he felt her trembling, as her arms hugged him tightly back. When he pulled away, he saw her eyes fill with tears. 

His heart nearly crumpled at the sight. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for all I’ve done. I don’t deserve you. But I still love you.” His throat constricted, and Brienne’s beautiful blue eyes swam before him.

“Jaime, oh Jaime.” He felt her fingers wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “You deserve to be loved, you know.”

“Brienne,” he called out softly, his hand cupping her cheek and his thumb stroking her pale, warm skin. He kissed her – soft, tiny kisses on her lips, the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids and her forehead. 

Brienne said nothing but trembled still. She could barely stand the way Jaime was looking at her, incredibly sad and tender and earnest and so full of love, his eyes radiating warmth, his lips slightly parted. Longing flooded her whole being. She reached out to him. She drew his body close and pressed her warmth into his, her heart thudding through the fabric of her thin t-shirt. He was able to reach her still.

She drew her lips to his and kissed him desperately, her mouth falling open and her tongue savouring the taste of him. She couldn’t think and didn’t want to think, all she wanted was the heat between them, the yearning that her mind had obscured and hidden away for many, many months. Her hands found his shoulders and back, the curve of his ass; she reached between them and pressed his erection over his pants. He moaned into her neck, licking and biting, his hands reaching under her shirt to caress her breasts and circle her hardened nipples. There was no thought, all was sensation, all was Jaime and his skin and his warmth and his slightly spicy smell that she had missed. 

Soon they were on the couch and he was entirely naked and she was just in her blue cotton panties. Jaime was overcome with the nearness of Brienne, her warmth, the softness of her skin, her moans and her straightforward want. How her breasts felt rubbing against his chest. She was on top of him now and was kissing her way down his body. He felt crazy with desire, out of his mind with pure need. When she wrapped her hand around his hard, aching cock and lowered her mouth to it, he cried out and arched his back, nearly going mad with pleasure. Her mouth was warm and her tongue massaged his shaft while she gently stroked his balls, moving her hand further down to the sensitive perineum. When her long fingers moved down and circled his hole and pressed inside him a little, he felt his whole body react – a burst of pleasure struck him almost violently. Her mouth continued moving on his shaft, and somehow she took him deeper into her than he had ever remembered her doing, and her finger pressed inside him, just a little, and it was all too much and the world went bright and he came with a shout, pouring himself into her throat. He felt like he came endlessly as his whole body spasmed again and again.

He drew her up on top of him, still dazed about how hard he had come. He had wanted to stop her so he could be inside her but she was relentless in giving him pleasure. He couldn’t think; she had never – never – been _inside_ him before, and he was astounded at how good it felt. He still wanted to fuck her now, but his body was suddenly made of jelly and seemingly unable to do anything except breathe.

“Gods,” he managed to groan, his legs still tingly. 

Brienne smiled a little smugly, and kissed him, moving off him and lying next to him. She trilled inside with the sense of power of making Jaime limp with pleasure; it was as satisfying as being pleasured herself. 

When he got his feeling in his fingers back, he turned to her and kissed her, his fingers finding their way down her side and abdomen, peeling off her panties. He kissed and licked at her nipples, making her squirm and moan. Brienne gasped when his fingers traced along her slit. 

“You’re dripping, wench,” he murmured to her breast. 

Sucking Jaime’s cock had made her slick and wet, and she felt liquid pool in her cunt. He inserted two fingers in and rubbed her clit with his thumb. She knew it wouldn’t take long – she was incredibly turned on, and soon enough she was shuddering against Jaime as her cunt clenched rhythmically around his fingers. 

Brienne loved looking at Jaime’s face at this moment – he was relaxed, looking up at her as if she had given him the world, the corners of his lips turned up in a small, satisfied smile. He was golden and tan and all angles, as if shadow and light had sculpted him to tempt all the Seven Gods. She wanted to run her fingers through his already messed up hair. _Jaime_. He still touched the parts of her that she kept hidden away, that no one else saw. Despite it all, being near him and around him still made her happy. She didn’t know if she was a fool or just mistaken.

There was no use for it. Brienne knew she still loved him and had never really stopped. She had paused it, perhaps, had thrown distractions at it, and immersed herself in work. Even tried to convince herself that she’d be happy with having just casual sexual relationships with trusted friends. But it was always Jaime; she had given her heart to him just as she had first given him her body. Oh, she still loved him alright, but she still didn’t know if she could trust him with her heart again. It had taken a lot of work and thought to free herself from lingering sorrow and heartbreak.

She got up, much to Jaime’s mild protests, put her clothes back on, and went to the bathroom to clean up. By the time she got back, Jaime was sitting on the couch shirtless, his pants on. When she approached him, he looked up at her, his face hopeful.

She sat down and faced him. A part of her wanted to throw all caution to the wind and take him back, risk it all. That part of her wanted to go all in, give herself over to him entirely. Another part of her sounded a warning. He had been careless with her heart when she had given it to him. 

“Jaime, about what you said.”

He hung his head a little, ashamed. “Look, Brienne – I wasn’t going to say all that – I mean, I hadn’t _intended_ to say all that. I wanted to leave you alone, give you your space, but I can’t seem to control myself when I’m around you.” His voice was pleading, his eyes large and filled with sadness. “I love you, Brienne. I’m sorry I’m so selfish, but I want us to be together.” He wrung his hands and looked down. “I know it’s not possible. I know I’ve lost my chance.”

She took his hands in hers and looked at him with a soft, tender expression. “Jaime, my feelings for you haven’t changed – I did – I _do_ love you.” She paused, biting her lip. “But I don’t know. I’m scared. I’m afraid to trust you. How do I know you won’t run off to Cersei when she calls you again? When her new marriage falls apart? When she begs you to come to her?” She shook her head. “I can’t compete with twenty years of history. I won’t go through the same thing again.”

Jaime felt like he was at the precipice of a steep cliff. One wrong step and he’d fall to oblivion. He did not know what to say to make her believe him, that he was completely done with his cousin. 

“Brienne – I’ll never go back to Cersei – her hold on me is gone and has been for years, even before I met you. Cersei and I were thrown together as children and it wasn’t even a choice to love her – I just did, or my own twisted idea of what love really was. She isn’t – isn’t a kind person, Brienne. But _you_ are, and you astonished me from the first. From you, I learned that love was good, and not cruel; that it was giving and not taking. Cersei is over. Forever.” 

His intense gaze searched her face. “But now, I want to _choose_ who I love. I want to choose someone who’s good, whom I admire, who I find incredibly sexy and who turns me on with just a glance of her astonishing blue eyes. I choose someone who is kind to others, whose first instinct is to help, not harm. I choose _you_ to love, Brienne.”

She stared at him for a long time. Her expression was of mild disbelief, mixed with hope. She remembered the few times she had seen Cersei – the woman was utterly beautiful, flawless. It occurred to her: how could someone who’s attracted to a perfect beauty such as her be attracted to someone as mediocre looking as Brienne? But Jaime, the man in front of her – gorgeous, sincere, and speaking from his heart – he said he wanted her, and she dared not think that he was lying. No. She did not think he was lying.

After a long silence, she finally spoke. “I think – I think I need time, Jaime. To think. I want to trust you again, but I don’t know if it will come.”

Jaime fervently nodded. “Say no more, Brienne. I will wait for you –”

“I don’t _want_ you to wait for me, Jaime,” she protested mournfully, remembering the scores of women that had approached him every time he attended an event.

Jaime smiled almost jubilantly and took both of her hands in his and kissed them. “Oh, but I _want_ to wait for you, Brienne. You are the one I love, the only one I want. I’ll wait for you forever, even if you decide that this old man is too useless and emotionally hobbled for you.” He was smiling, but he spoke the words with the seriousness of a vow.

=====

The next few weeks passed in a blur; both the Tyrells and the King’s Landing Museum of Modern Art made demands on Brienne’s time. Yet she still managed to see Jaime regularly. They toured the Modern Art museum together one morning before a meeting with the curator, stopping at their favourite Bothko colour fields which had so inspired Brienne. Jaime led her through the contemporary art gallery, showing her the paintings he loved, especially the post-modern, re-imaginings of race and culture in Marshall J. Kerry's works.

Jaime took her to his favourite restaurants in King’s Landing, and they even went to the local farmer’s markets with Tommen. Slowly, she realized that room was being made for her in Jaime’s life. She was often invited to dinner at Jaime’s and she got a chance to discuss the actual length of the Long Night with Tommen, and whether the famed sword Oathkeeper actually belonged to the Blue Knight or Goldenhand the Just. She even made very fast friends with Ser Pounce, who liked to stretch out and drape his furry body over the long length of one of her thighs. 

When he came over to her studio to show him her paintings in progress, Brienne could not take the tension between them anymore and kissed him. Their kisses and touches soon became desperate, as they fumbled to get closer. Brienne had her pants and underwear off, but she was so impatient that she pulled out Jaime’s very hard cock, dragged him to the floor on top of her and guided him immediately inside her. She demanded he fuck her hard and he did, both of them coming quickly with wild cries.

He was still waiting for her, but she was still fearful. She was aware of his history with Cersei, how his whole life was spent waiting for his beautiful cousin to call him so they could have a quick fuck before she disappeared again. She did not want to be another Cersei in his life, demanding his cock whenever she needed it. She did not want him to be at her beck and call. She did not want him to suspend his life for her. After asking him to fuck her in her apartment, Brienne was ashamed, and she felt like she had used him somehow. Of course Jaime was fine with it, more than fine if his reaction were any indication, but she still felt strange about it. The situation with Jaime was not like the one with Jon or Oberyn; it could never be just casual sex between them. Jaime _loved_ her and she had the power to break Jaime’s heart if she really wanted to. She found that power incredibly frightening.

She found herself explaining the situation with Jon, who came to town for her solo show and who had intended to stay for a couple of months while Ygritte was beset with deadlines at the TV station. 

“So you’ve ended things with Oberyn,” Jon said, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded. Jon squinted in thought. “And Jaime’s confessed that he loves you – a few times now.” She nodded.

“You’ve also admitted that you still love him.” He stared at her. “I don’t see what the problem is, Brienne.”

She admitted that it was remarkable how simple the situation seemed coming out from another person’s mouth. Still, a part of her protested. “How do I know that he won’t go back to Cersei? She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m...I’m me.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Gods, Brienne. You are sexy as all hells and you know it. Must I remind you of how much fun we had in bed together? Did you hear me ever complain?” He sounded a little nostalgic.

He shook his head and ploughed on. “Look, you’ll never know if he’ll go back to Cersei, just as I’ll never know if Ygritte is going to leave me for some hotshot reporter or a wildling hunter. Love has no guarantees, Brienne. To love someone _is_ to risk getting hurt.”

Jon caressed her cheek. “You just have to figure out if the love you have for Jaime is _worth_ taking that risk. If it’s worthwhile to love him. If _he_ is worthwhile.”

She stared at Jon. What he said fell into her consciousness like a big fat drop of cold water that allowed her to finally think straight.

 _Of course_ Jaime was worth loving. She would do anything for him. But if she would do anything for him, why couldn’t she just _love_ him?

Jon squeezed her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. His grey eyes glowed with happiness for her. “You want him? Go get him, Brienne. I’m rooting for you.”

Brienne got into her truck and drove to the studio, stopping there first because it was closer than his apartment. When she saw that the lights were on, she sighed with relief. To her surprise, the door was unlocked. She heard music, his painting music, melodic tunes by the artist Rufus. She looked into his studio but he wasn’t there. However, seven paintings sat on easels, done in dark tones. His new work. Jaime had spoken little about it, but she knew that he had been working furiously on them the last few months. Curious, she stepped closer; the paintings were so dark that she needed to be close to them to make out the images. When she did, she was so shocked that she dropped her car keys on the concrete floor. The clang of the keys echoed loudly even across the room.

He had painted the bed at the hotel in Winterfell, where they had made love and slept together that one night. There, on the canvas, she saw the long length of her back, painted with such realism that the skin looked luminous and warm. In another painting, the curve of her shoulder and her breasts, slightly covered by the bed sheet. Her hair spreading across the pillow like a silver storm. Her jawline and the suggestion of her lips, almost pink. Her fingers and arms on the blankets. Her long leg emerging from the blanket like a beam of light.

She gasped when she saw the last painting. It was the Winterfell hotel bedroom again, but this was _her_ , sitting on the bed, sheets gathered around her like white waves, covering her from the chest down. She was looking straight at the viewer, her skin looking like it had been bathed in moonlight, a delicate pink flush on the tops of her cheeks. Her eyes were large and blue and dark all at once, holding the promise of stars. Her hair was flung in all directions, tousled like seafoam. But it was the expression that made her breathless. The Brienne in the painting was open, vulnerable, tender, her eyes full of love, the set of her overly full mouth determined and courageous. Brienne knew she wasn’t beautiful but this painting made the viewer think that she was beautiful. She could hardly believe it. She had not posed for him. How had he captured every part of her so well?

“Brienne,” Jaime said from behind her, his voice indicating that he was close.

She turned around and stared at him. She saw him fully: _Jaime_ – beautiful, talented Jaime, who loved her beyond reason and who wanted to be a good father. Who wanted to be a good man. Who wanted _her_. Who made a mistake and was sorry for it. Who had risked his heart in order to get her back. Who waited for her and vowed to wait for her as long as it took. 

_She loved him_. Of course she loved him, and she would take that risk of letting him into her heart again. _Jaime_ was worth it. _Love_ was worth it. She understood that life had no guarantees, and she did not know what the future would hold for the two of them, but she wanted to be in this moment with him. She wanted to love him now, and hopefully forever.

He gaped at her, his face awed and filled with astonishment. He swallowed visibly and studied her face.

“Your expression. You and the painting have the same expression.” His voice caught in his throat. “I didn’t think I would ever see it on your face.”

She stepped toward him. “Jaime, I’m done making you wait.”

He drew in a breath. She touched his cheek gently. “I’m ready to be yours if you’ll have me.”

His face lit up and was at once incredulous and broken and full of joy. “Is it true? Are you sure?”

Brienne broke into a smile and nodded. “I love you, Jaime.”

Jaime laughed and threw his arms around her, and to her surprise, lifted her and spun her around. He kissed her hard, and squeezed her impossibly close. He pulled back and looked into her eyes again. 

“I love you, Brienne Tarth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's Year paintings are like David Hockney's iPad(!) paintings that he did of the exact same location in Yorkshire: <https://thedavidhockneyfoundation.org/series/the-arrival-of-spring-in-2011-twenty-eleven>  
> Jaime and Brienne look at "Bothko's paintings" which are really Rothko's paintings.  
> <https://www.wikiart.org/en/mark-rothko>  
> They also look at "Marshall J. Kerry's works" which are really Kerry James Marshall's wonderful paintings: <https://www.artsy.net/artist/kerry-james-marshall>


	19. NINETEEN

[ ](https://imgur.com/lQjnwSt)

“Where are you taking me, Jaime Lannister?” Brienne called out to the man leading her out of the gallery by the hand.

Jaime flashed a mischievous grin. “You’ll see. No questions.” His eyes traveled the long length of her and darkened. She had felt his hungry gaze all night at the opening, ever since she stepped out in the simple, long sleeved sapphire blue dress with a deep plunging v neckline that only a woman as flat chested as her could pull off.

They got into her pickup truck, Brienne in the passenger seat. It had taken a little while for Jaime to adjust to her old beater after driving luxury cars all his life – its mysterious noises, its protests when there was change of gear – but he managed to subdue the old beast.

Brienne felt incandescent, a thrumming in her veins. She’d just attended the opening to her own solo show at the legendary gallery Roseheart. She felt immensely proud to see her paintings, created by her own hand from the vision in her own mind, on the gallery walls. Hours upon hours of work and dedication, and there she was, standing amongst her own creations, amongst a crowd of beloved friends. Even Asha made her way back from Pike, and so did Oberyn and Ellaria, all the way from Dorne. Of course, her best friend Jon was there, and the look of admiration he gave her made her entire being glow. Jaime was always nearby, looking at her anxiously at times, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she ate and drank something. The looks he gave her – full of love and pride and warmth, could have fuelled the loneliest nights.

Jaime stopped the truck at the cliffs near the Red Keep observatory – it was late, and there were few cars on the road, and no one around as they stepped out of the truck. Brienne gasped; the view of King’s Landing from this height was spectacular – the lights of the city dotted the darkness, as the sky above them shone with unusually bright stars.

“Jaime! This is beautiful!” Brienne turned to him, her eyes excited and shining. It felt like the world lay at their feet.

“The best view of the city,” Jaime said, moving toward the back of the truck. He climbed in, rummaged about, and laid out a few thick blankets and quilts on the bed of the truck, along with a pillows and cushions he had retrieved from somewhere. He lifted another blanket to reveal a cooler that he’d hidden. 

“What’s this?” Brienne looked at him curiously.

Jaime shrugged. “It’s nothing special.” He helped her up on the bed of the truck and they settled themselves to sitting side by side. The summer night was comfortably cool, and a gentle breeze caressed their skin.

He took out a bottle from the cooler, and poured its contents into plastic tumblers. “Non-alcoholic, I’m afraid. Driving.”

Jaime smiled softly at her.

“To Brienne of Tarth, and her amazing art,” Jaime declared, raising his plastic cup in a toast. Brienne could not contain the redness in her cheeks as she drank.

“And to us,” Jaime said softly, looking at her with affection. She raised her cup, taking a large sip, and felt a part of her melt inside. It took some getting used to, being in a real relationship with Jaime. He was at times over-the-top in his love and admiration for her – the way he looked at her all the time, with those soft, lustrous eyes, his mouth tipped into a smile – always made her heart skip a beat.

“How do you feel after your first exhibit?” He took off her high heels and began to massage her aching feet. Brienne let out a little moan.

She grinned. “Honestly, I’ve never felt so satisfied. It feels like I won the lottery or something. To see my paintings on the walls! To have so many good friends come to support me. I feel...full. With love. With happiness. With everything.” She laughed into the sky. Gods, could she be happier?

She gave him a curious look. “Did you feel the same way after your first solo show?”

He grimaced. “Gods, that was fifteen years ago. I remember it though. It was a bad night – the opening went fine, and I was happy about that, but I remember being disappointed that Cersei didn’t come. I had looked for her, watched for her at the door all night.” Jaime shook his head. “I was a real self-absorbed asshole back then – much more than I am now, that is.” He gave a forlorn grin.

Jaime sighed and stretched himself out in the bed of the truck. Brienne finished off her drink and joined him. Immediately, his arm went around her as she laid her head on his shoulder.

Above them, the stars blazed, points of light surrounding them and filling the entirety of their vision.

“Gods, it’s beautiful.” Brienne smiled into his neck, smelling the familiar sandalwood of his soap. “Thank you for bringing me out here.”

His other hand stroked her soft hair. “I figure this is better than another party or a bar.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at Jaime. His green eyes looked entirely dark, except for the light of the stars that were reflected in his eyes. She kissed him languidly, taking her time to taste him and adjust to his eager responses. Her hands slowly explored his muscled body, beautiful in a new suit that was the same blue to match her dress. He unzipped her dress and exposed her skin, pale and glowing, almost luminescent. She undressed him with utter seriousness, marveling each time a golden expanse of his skin was revealed. 

Jaime felt unworthy to have this vibrant, lovely goddess in his arms. He felt blessed to be kissing Brienne, licking her skin, sucking her hard and prominent pink nipples; when he tasted her, his mouth to her cunt, he felt infinitely blessed to feel her writhing and bucking under him as she broke apart and flooded his tongue. 

The stars were all she saw and all she felt when Jaime entered her, thrusting at first with a deliberate slowness as this thick cock filled her. She gasped and rocked up into him, her long legs wrapped around him, and soon his trusts were urgent, hard and deep. He moaned into her skin, his breath fast and hot. He locked eyes with her as she came, bringing him along with her as her cunt clutched his cock and he shuddered into her, and Brienne saw light and stars around her, and Jaime’s shining eyes above her, and brightness overcame her whole being.

=====

By all accounts, both exhibits at the Roseheart and King’s Landing Museum of Modern Art were successes, extremely well attended by the elite of the art world, journalists, and curators from throughout Westeros. The art world was surprised to find something new and original in their field. Brienne was lauded for her subtle, minimal abstract expressionist paintings of much depth. All of her paintings sold within a week (a few to Jaime), and she was regarded as one of the brightest stars of contemporary art. 

However, what thrilled Brienne most was that their collaboration from _Paradise_ _Redeemed_ was later given a permanent place in the Museum of Modern Art; of course, since neither Jaime nor Brienne would sell the paintings, it was on permanent loan. She was incredulous at this news because the paintings now hung amongst the great artists who had inspired her when she visited King’s Landing when she was a child, days which she remembered with a fondness that was prominent as her most treasured memories with her father. 

The fact that Jaime and Brienne were now officially together made the buzz at the shows even more wild. Many of the people who attended the openings took credit for the couple, namely both Olenna and Margery Tyrell; Tyrion and Tommen; Oberyn Martell, and of course, Jon Snow, who deserved the credit perhaps more than the rest. Wherever they went, there was an energy around the two of them that was so palpable that everyone around them could feel it. If electricity hadn’t yet been discovered, it would have surely been noticed between Brienne and Jaime. 

The article on Brienne (along with a few pictures of Jaime) in _Art Moderne_ magazine exposed her to even a higher echelon of artists and cemented her rising star status. Nearly overnight, she had made a great deal more money than she’d ever had in her life, and she gained a little piece of art world fame; in gossipy circles, she was also known as the rare woman who captured the elusive heart of Jaime Lannister.

Brienne was incredulous at her quick success. She looked in the mirror and saw the same crooked nose and thick lips and gigantic frame - but instead of thinking she was ugly, like she would have done years ago, she now thought that she was at least _interesting_ looking. Seeing herself through the eyes of people who loved her - fellow artists who inexplicably were drawn to paint and photograph her - made her think about herself in a new light. Her face and body on a canvas allowed her to see the lines and angles of her body, the curves and the flattering way light and shadow landed on her flesh and muscles. As the view of her body changed, so grew her belief in herself. Whereas the Brienne of two years ago wouldn’t have felt deserving of the love of the famous Jaime Lannister, she now felt that they had both earned the gift of being loved, and loving each other fiercely in return.

Being together had to be a conscious decision on both of their parts, not just the result of combustible sexual chemistry; they couldn’t just fall into one another’s beds like they did when they first got together when they cocooned themselves in their studios and away from the world. No, being together took time and planning. Tommen was a huge part of Jaime’s life now, and Brienne had to make room in her life for him, just as he had to make room in his life for her. Then there was always the spectre of Cersei in the background, and there would be no getting rid of her, as she was, after all, the boy's mother.

Brienne knew she might have moments where she wondered if Jaime would go back to his cousin as he did over two years ago, but she knew that to trust someone was to take that risk, just as it was risky to love someone and allow that person to love you in return. Above all, she had to trust how she felt when she was in Jaime’s arms, how she felt when he looked into her eyes when he moved inside her, how he trembled when he burst and fell apart with pleasure when he was under her. 

Jaime could not believe his profound luck when Brienne decided to give them a second chance. He had expected to love her and pine after her from afar, celebrating her successes from the vantage of his lonely bed. He knew he had not done much to earn back her trust and love, and yet Brienne was generous and big-hearted and forgiving enough to believe in him and open her heart to him once again. He was already in awe of Brienne, but her capacity for love astonished him even more. 

He too found success with his recent shows: _A Year,_ the paintings of the thicket that he had painted over the seasons gained national attention; and _Winter,_ the small series of seven paintings of Brienne in a hotel bedroom done in his highly realistic style garnered more than a few features in art magazines. He was lauded for this experimentation in style, along with originality of subject matter. The publication of the catalogue of his retrospective works was postponed to make room for the inclusion of these new works. 

There were several paintings he would not sell, one amongst them was his portrait of Brienne in the Winterfell hotel room, which hung prominently in his studio. Jaime thought it was the painting that convinced her to come back to him, though Brienne laughingly denied it, saying no painting had that much power. Nonetheless, Jaime would spend hours gazing upon it, especially when she was away in Tarth and away from him.

Brienne had thought that when she first fell in love with Jaime over two years ago that it would consume her entirely, body and soul; in fact, the love and the subsequent heartbreak nearly destroyed her and made her retreat back into her shell. But choosing to love Jaime again gave her a great deal more power and independence. She was a little older and a lot wiser. Her love for him was still at times overwhelming but now it was a conscious thing. It was true that they could not predict what the future would hold for her and Jaime. But Brienne lived each day, and loved him each day, and she thought he loved her just as much. 

Both of them still craved their own bit of freedom. She returned to live in the apartment above Jaime’s studio, while Jaime mostly lived in his apartment downtown with Tommen. Of course, there were frequent sleepovers for all three of them, but Brienne thought it was good that they both had their own separate spaces. She had learned too much to give up her independence entirely; besides, having time alone was crucial to both of their creative processes. Brienne was in Tarth for months of the year, and Jaime would go with her most of the time. The sea found its way into his newer paintings.

Tommen loved Tarth, and Brienne was the one who taught him to swim. He had been a little scared of the wildness of the ocean, but she had calmly led him into the water, and held his body afloat as he kicked and waved his arms. She marveled at his little body, growing every day, stretching out into the embrace of the sea, and how he trusted her enough to place himself in her arms. Soon enough, he was confident to swim out of her steadying hands, and she could not contain her whoops of joy as he paddled away from her. She knew she was not Tommen’s mother and would never really be, but she had gained something more: his trust and his love. His heart had not yet been permanently twisted from cruelties of life, though gods knew the boy had experienced his share of loss. His affection and soul remained pure, and Brienne felt it a duty to protect him. Under the Tarth sun, Tommen soon grew tanned and lost a little of his adorable pudginess. 

As he sat on the beach, sketchbook in his lap, trying to capture the movement of his son and his Brienne in the water, Jaime thought that he had never been so happy. As a young artist, he never thought that perfection could exist, yet he strove for it in his paintings any way. But as a man, having grown and suffered and lived, he thought that perfection was a subjective thing, not an objective standard at all, and now he felt that perfection was in him as it was in Brienne. Together they made perfection. It existed every day when he was with her.

Jaime was on Tarth with his son and his love Brienne. He finally saw what Brienne’s blue eyes looked like against the sapphire of the sea. There was no contest. No sea could contain the brightness and the love that Brienne’s eyes contained. Or how, as he splashed into the water next to them, those eyes widened and how they reflected the blue of the sky and behind them, the stars. 

=====

It had been Jaime’s idea of course, to tape the canvas fabric onto the floor. He had brought out the acrylic paint, big jars of them, and splattered random patterns of blues and whites and yellows onto the canvas. Brienne was embarrassed to admit that she had been much too easy to convince in this venture. Anything for art, amongst other things, she said to herself. From then, it was all too easy.

Jaime stripped her at a leisurely pace, licking and kissing each expanse of exposed skin so slowly that buy the time he pulled down her underwear to kiss her mound and sex, her knees were shaking from want and yearning. He took his own clothes off without much fanfare, leaving him glistening and golden, his cock jutting out, thick and long. She wanted to kneel and worship his cock but he shook his head and pulled them to kneeling on the canvas instead, their knees loudly squelching on the paint. The paint and the canvas, of course, was an irrelevant thing at that specific time, because both of them were too absorbed in each other, too busy kissing and tasting and licking. Jaime moaned loudly when she wrapped her hand around his thick, hot length. She gasped when he sucked at her nipples and teased her clit in small intense circles, making her quiver and come in a few short minutes.

Jaime grinned into her neck and lowered her to the floor, and she winced from the cold of the paint. He thrust into her in one hard stroke, making her arch her back and groan. She wrapped her legs around him and he fucked her even deeper. His cock was warm and filled her, and with every thrust, he was grinding into her clit, sending little shocks through her whole body. She held him and flipped him, which made his eyes grow wider and darker with lust; his cock jumped inside her. She was straddling him and as she ground into his pelvis, he rolled his eyes back in pleasure as she used his cock unabashedly to stimulate her sensitive and swollen nub.

“Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” Brienne cried, and soon her cunt was contracting all around his cock and her whole body was trembling.

Jaime stared at her in awe and sat up, holding Brienne’s hips as he pumped his hips hard and wildly up at her, his cock desperate and swollen and ready for release. He kissed her and felt the pebbles of her nipples rub against the sparse hairs of his chest, and he held her tight. He looked into her blue eyes, saw the sea and the sky and the stars and above all _Brienne_ , and he came, his whole body shuddering as he spurted forcefully into her cunt in a few last desperate and hard thrusts.

Exhausted, they fell back into the canvas, breathing hard.

When they came back to themselves, they took one look at one another and laughed hysterically. Gods, they were covered head to toe with paint. Blue, green, white, and yellow paint was everywhere, in every crack and cranny of their bodies. When Brienne sat up, Jaime’s copious seed flowed down her thigh and onto the painting.

Jaime smirked. “Mixed media.” Brienne pretended to hit him on the arm, but she giggled. Mixed media. Gods, it was rather funny, as she imagined the very official description of the painting: Acrylic, Mixed Media on cotton canvas. 

Thankfully, their faces were bare, and Brienne leaned in for a kiss, which Jaime happily gave. She had brought flip flops for them, thank goodness, so the concrete floors were saved. They showered together to get the paint off, and it took much longer than anticipated because bits of dried acrylic paint were difficult to get off, and of course Jaime had to fuck her against the shower wall, one leg wrapped around his waist as he easily slid into her slick, warm cunt.

When they were finally clean, pink from the shower and only tiny bits of paint left in their hair, Jaime and Brienne stood in front of their painting, expressions thoughtful.

“Hmmm.” Jaime titled his head to change the angle of his vision. He looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

“It looks...it looks…” Brienne was at a loss for words.

“Like two people fucked on some paint on a canvas?” Jaime supplied, his tone droll.

Brienne nodded. She bit her lip and frowned. “It looks messy.”

Jaime pulled her to him and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Back to the drawing board, wench.”

She stared at him, suspicion on her face. “Jaime. You didn’t make this painting thing up just so we could have sex on paint, did you?”

Jaime laughed and walked away. 

“Jaime!”

He held out a hand for her. “Come, Brienne. Let’s go upstairs. After all that...uh...painting, I could use a nap and some cuddling. Couldn’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him but took his offered hand. He kissed her on the lips, making her scowl disappear.

“Maybe it’ll look different when it’s dried or stretched on a frame?” Brienne said hopefully. She was determined to save the painting.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I dearly hope so. I, for one, would have to have our sex juices proudly displayed in the Museum of Modern Art.”

Jaime laughed even harder as Brienne admonished him with a shocked but all too endearing look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, thanks for indulging me in my love of modern and contemporary art through the lens of Brienne and Jaime. I can imagine the story didn’t satisfy everybody, and I’m sorry for that; I told a story that made sense in my mind, and that’s the only explanation I can offer. 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and all the comments. In particular, I very much enjoyed reading all your diverse views about Jaime and his possibility (or lack thereof) for redemption. And here I thought the minor/side relationships with Jon and Oberyn would be the most controversial things about this story which would turn people off!
> 
> You guys have given me lots to think about, so thank you. I don’t have plans for a new story but if I ever do write another one, I hope it’s fluffier, has less to no angst, and features an unproblematic Jaime. Oh, and way shorter. Yeah. 
> 
> Take care and see you around the fandom here at ao3.
> 
> 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

**Author's Note:**

> Brienne's paintings are like the paintings of the wonderful Agnes Martin (in particular her painting "Summer"): <https://www.wikiart.org/en/agnes-martin>  
> Jaime's paintings are similar to ones by Edward Hopper, though a lot more realistic in style.  
> <https://www.wikiart.org/en/edward-hopper>  
> Jon's portraits are like recent works by David Hockney: <http://www.hockney.com/index.php/works/paintings/82-portraits>
> 
> Finally, this fic was inspired by the great singer-songwriter [Rufus Wainwright](https://rufuswainwright.com/). In particular, the songs:  
> 1\. [Imaginary Love](https://youtu.be/UIoGHSQJRUM)  
> 2\. [The Maker Makes](https://youtu.be/fh-q76T4lEg)  
> 3\. [Sanssouci](https://youtu.be/CVtm2gacrwg)  
> 4\. [Vibrate](https://youtu.be/bJeacP9nBu4)  
> 5\. [Sword of Damocles](https://youtu.be/wmUVy43tqw4)


End file.
